Ressler
by CosmicEardwulf
Summary: A mystery surrounding Special Agent Donald Ressler's past and now someone wants him dead. And it is up to him to unravel the mystery about him being the person of interest- as a target? Can he manage to keep his trust in justice in-tact until he gets to the bottom or will he end up dead while becoming something else? -AU-
1. Chapter 1

It is Christmas and I've been wondering to publish my own fanfic at this auspicious day, and after reading so many great stories here I could not wait for it. A few weeks earlier I attained an irregular ominous flow and the next thing I was aware of, is that I wrote couple of thousand words. And, I could not wait any longer to publish it. Truthfully, I'm quite nervous as I have confidence issues but hopefully publishing this piece of work might do some good. I really hope the story is likeable enough to read. Oh and before reading the story I must clarify that I am not good with explanatory scene like, er I am having difficulties explaining an object or thing or whatever.

Speaking of which, Blacklist is one of my few favorite shows on TV apart from Hannibal which I spare to watch, and Donald Ressler is my preferred character. And this story will perhaps unravel the things he couldn't do on the show, while I for one really dislike the way the writers portray him. Well that is just me—one instance he always gets beaten pretty badly at the show, even Lizzie fights better than him and he was supposed to be the brute on the show. I must say that I'm a huge fan of action movies, and probably, due to which this story may contain over the top, sometimes downright unbelievable feats accomplished by Ressler. Well you have been notified about it beforehand so that you can leave if it isn't something you like. But, you're absolutely free to read.

English isn't my first language, but I'll try my best to write decent enough to read. So, my first Blacklist fanfic well frankly, my first fanfic in general. Oh and please pardon me if there are errors.

**Warning:** Story might contains general badassery in future. Rated T+ for coarse language.

**_RESSLER_**

_Chapter 1: Prologue_

Donald Ressler was not a force to be reckoned with. His cold, calculated, one track mind and emotionless gaze always bored into everyone he knew of. Of course people assumed he was headstrong and down and tenaciously stubborn, he proved it on time and time again. That nature he held was the only way he kept tracking The Batman, Reddington again and again. He did not stop his pursuit—not once, he got almost close, almost; seemed to him, Reddington was always one or more steps ahead of him. And those steps were the ones he despised the most. The Anslo Garrick ordeal was still alive and imprinted on his consciousness, that he could still feel—occasionally—the sharp pain on his thigh, when he was shot and bled out cold— on the verge of death, a thumb pressed against his wound which brought him back to life.

He would not deny to himself, that he had given up twice in his life, never before had he done it. Hopelessness was something he was not familiar with, his childhood—he must confess was normal in all aspects, although his teenage years were rebellious—sort of. Until the day, where he concluded there are options. He could not cope with the guilt afterwards; the things he caused affected him—a lot. Hopelessness, it never occurred to him when he was trying to find a date for prom, or training to be an agent, and the grueling training sessions during Special Ops, and confessing his love for Audrey, the childhood sweetheart; and not even while he was on pursuit of the infamous, most wanted criminal, Reddington; and not even the day when Audrey ended everything between them. But it occurred to him—hopelessness—when he laid rest inside the box with his _friend/enemy?_ Who—ultimately, despite of saving him, held a gun to his head?

His home was empty, and friends, very few—none concerned, but might offer condolences to his widowed mother if he ever rest in peace on the line of duty. He made enemies much more than friends while he grew up. Was he a good man? He considered himself not, he realized along the way about his constant rebuttal, his impending ire and infamous stubborn nature was a repulsive characteristic in him. No one awaited him at home, not a single person to smile his way if he ever went home. Hope lay between his works but not home. He found his apartment gloomy, sullen and dull since her departure. He had the chance, to rest peacefully—hopelessness tore him apart when he laid rest on verge of death, he wanted to die then and there.

But, damn that criminal for shocking him—preventing him to die peacefully. Damn his tenacity and audacity, Reddington held his own gun on his head for crying out loud. It occurred to him very slowly, that he couldn't hear what he was saying, so he tried to read his speech pattern on his lips still—to no avail, but as Reddington raised his head to show him the scene and he understood. He wanted the code, for Keen—his life for her. So he reflected his life, as it flashed before him—it is his time to go, he thought _Might as well do a good deed before going to hell._

"Romeo"

But alas! He woke up to the same emptiness, which he was awfully familiar with. He had one chance to die an honorable death, but it was taken away. So hopelessness, he ignored it to live till the day he will die next. To his surprise, Audrey arrived—came back to him; as if fate or destiny the little fuckers brought her back to him. But then he realized the case, she was engaged, _Not fucking again._ Karma—whatever that is, sure is a bitch.

But soon he realized, she might still hold some feelings for him. _Karma is not a bitch,_ they spent their days together and then came his natural cynicism invaded his personal, fluttering pit of hell—his heart and brain. He realized, he might be getting the vibe of so, since she was already engaged; there was no second chance for him, and he accepted the fact and faced the woman to stop seeing him. An asshole he might be, but he did care about her, she needed a better man in her life. Perhaps, the man engaged to her was better than he. The history he reflected, his life was the reason why she left him in the first place. And he accepted the fact.

Which— unfortunately for him was not the case; but the future predicament, ultimately led him to his suffering. They fixed their sinking ship when she confessed she called off her engagement. She moved in and together and their memories were all so vivid, cheerful and almost dreamlike, he felt happiness… again. But the universe did not want to see him happy—not at all. Mako Tanida; the vindictive brother played his role to invoke his suffering furthermore. He took her away from him and along her unborn, and his friend who he considered his best—betrayed.

His greatest enemy, surprisingly—cured his aching soul which sought revenge, while Keen, his partner dare he says, helped him cross the bridge back from hopelessness. _Not entirely—… _He mended his wounds alone, wordlessly. He deserved none, to help him back up. It was partly his fault that she and his child died. None would have occurred, if he was not married to his job, and having an affair with his mission. And The Boy Scout was collapsing, but not completely, he was Donald Fucking Ressler after-all, one-track minded, stubborn as hell, the man—a force not to be reckoned with. So he held on his life, suffering—yes, but not hopeless— not entirely.

Was Donald depressed? His cynicism did not let him achieve depression, although he was confused—unsure about it. Until, his colleague Meera—died right before his eyes. And, then the Boy Scout, the FBI's Golden boy, Captain America had begun collapsing. He was partly at fault for her demise, he was the reason why her children where motherless. And if only he could turn back the time, undoubtedly he would have traded his life for her to the reaper. But the universe did not want him dead, it only wants his suffering. And he accepted it; he will wait for his calling.

Suicide was not an option for him, although once he might have acted on it. And then he realized, the universe did not want him dead yet, and he concluded then—as Keen knocked on his apartment. Her speech soft almost broken; he realized— he was not the only one with issues. He was no profiler, but it sparked something inside him right that moment, looked at her dismayed and crestfallen; he silently vowed to himself, that he will stay strong for her, he might not be strong enough to save Audrey and Meera, but he would stay strong for his partner. He scratched suicide off his note and moved on.

His thigh bothered him every hour of day, the stinging throb of his artery, and the rattling metal fixated on his bone, it bothered him. Relaxation—the word was alienated from his brain, he got back to work as soon as possible ignoring the pain, as he stayed high on pills every day. He became an addict, and he will not deny it. He wondered what was becoming of him,_ Like Gregory House but not cripple_—he reckoned. The meds distracted him from the pain, which distracted him from work; and work was the only thing he had to live with. The math was simple "pain free, work on" and Cooper didn't have to know.

And sense of déjà vu jarred him—invaded his thought phrase again, he was reflecting past years which scarred him badly, yet tenderly, as Keen had been the only one who he guarded and healed his wounds; it brought him strange bliss. He found it strange, the woman did hold something in him—she held hope, which he carried along. Had he achieved everything in life? No he did not. He concedes, there was no complaint regarding his loneliness, he had no one to hold him when he broke down. Perhaps, he did not want anyone's sympathetic gaze, _Donald fucking Ressler_ was his name, stubborn, headstrong, one-track minded FBI's superman or Captain America—The Boy Scout.

Déjà vu, he laid battle torn and blood soaked beneath a tree, inclined on its bark. He could point many parts on his anatomy to be in pain. He could feel the large gash on his left bicep which he unsuccessfully tried to close with his right; and a fractured collar bone. While the surging pain on his left shoulder, which was dislocated—disturbed his heavy breathing. Head throbbing as it poured blood down his temple, concussive—which not even the down pouring rain could cease. Stabbed from behind, and the knife wound pulsated in him. He could feel soaring ache on his damaged thigh— the one from the past, and the slightly grazed knee which he could see from his blurry eyes, the clothes was ripped near it, he felt cold as his shirt was torn as its fabric hung—stuck with his battle worn body. He could die any minute, he could feel it.

His vision played the game of blurriness and cleanliness. Eyes mustered the scene before him, mud and blood and dead bodies lay around him. He killed a total four. Beneath his feet laid the most violent of them all. He defeated all professional assailants singlehandedly bare-handed but in expense with his life. The heavy down pour of rain, made it difficult for him to have clear vision and virtually impaired him from hearing the rattling of braches above him.

It happened too soon, before anything he processed; it was fast—the situation. His thoughts went towards Liz, who he left behind unconscious, and pursued one assailant who was the reason behind her condition. He recalled, informing the dispatch about their situation. An agent gravely injured and his partner, unconscious—he hoped the paramedics along with backup will soon appear to tend them, so he went after the unknown into the deep woods. Not knowing, the fact that it was all an elaborate plan which he ignored and went bull heading after him; they surprised him an attack—far colossal, and he laid there, a small smile forming on his lips. Maybe it was his time to go… finally— the universe had sent him the calling.

He was considering his acceptance.

The battle took only for few minutes, and within those minutes he fended them off—killing them. Hopelessness, never had he imagined would occur to him again, now as he was at death's door again and he succumbed to it. He hallucinated, Audrey appearing before him— smiling and he returned it but melancholic. Part of him wanted to live—for Liz, he might appear selfish, and he was selfish as well as stubborn. She was the reason that he had not lost his sanity earlier that day when he decided to commit suicide; she became his stability. Oh and she repaid her gratitude, occasionally reminding him that she was thankful for his involvement in her life, and for the day when she was abducted—and the day he let her in after he found out about the truth about both important men in her life. He could die peacefully, as he cared less about her, now that it seemed she had sorted out the differences between her and Red.

_You better take care of her, Red. Or I might come back to haunt your old ass to hell._

And, he gladly accepted his end.

_The prospect of having to live without me—must've been terrifying._

_It was._

He took a sharp breath, and exhaled shakily and trailed off whispering, "S—sorry… Liz."

_Donald Ressler! He is your father! For once in your life, forget about your damn pride and visit him. He may not be able make it another day._

"… Dad…"

_I don't want to see his face; he is not my son anymore._

"Mom"

His vision foretold darkness, but he heard sirens from long distance. Hopeless, he might be dead before they find him. Then he saw darkness as he entered into deep slumber.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: _So it is New Year 2015. So I brought Chapter 2 along with me to update. I must say beforehand, that this may be an introduction to Ressler and Keen's point of view as I was trying (really hard) to write conversations and jumbling thoughts which I'm not good at. But, I did my research. :P Hopefully, this piece of work is decent and interesting enough for the future main plot. P.S.- I'm nervous about this particular chapter.

I don't usually ship or anything, but the chemistry between the characters cannot be over looked, so obviously I liked whatever Ms. Boone and Mr. Klattenhoff shared on screen even for few minutes, and I developed a huge crush on her and became a fan of Mr. Klattenhoff. The characters they play are equally miserable but as we explore Keen's dilemma as a protagonist, not that I mind, but mostly my favorite characters— much like Ressler are usually simple, angry and headstrong, and both the actors play their characters amazingly. And not to forget the main man Mr. Spader, I was a fan of him from the show The Practice, followed by Boston Legal, he plays the anti-hero so perfectly that I don't know if I should despise or admire the character. Hopefully I can justify their respective roles in this fiction, but they may be OOC at some moments.

As we're done with the Prologue, now we start the story.

**_Disclaimer: _**The Blacklist belongs to Mr. Bokenkamp and NBC.

**Warning: **Contains coarse language, and may contain factual, grammatical and spelling errors (even though, I have re-read it quite a few times, I'm still paranoid). Also, it may contain hints of Keenler or whatever the fandom had termed it. No Reddington, but the main man will definitely show up when I will introduce the main plot.

* * *

><p><strong><em><span>RESSLER<span>_**

_Chapter 2: Trust_

Five weeks earlier

_8:47 P.M._

"Kerry Louis, you are under arrest for first-degree murder of Jacob Howard and Elizabeth Rothrock and five more victims along with assaulting law enforcement officers. You have the right to remain…"

Despite sharing the first name with a dead woman Elizabeth Keen held little interest in the scene before her. As a profiler she could see the look on Kerry Louis, he held no remorse or guilt or even a tiny bit of fear for the crime he committed, not even the felony charges and assaulting a law enforcement officer along with an agent with a threat, and it was her partner—Ressler, whom she was observing.

Who seemed rather indifferent to this whole ordeal, regardless of the violent tendency he demonstrates to the people who threaten him directly on his face—he hurled the six feet five inches man off his feet to the ground all by himself. Now she must confess to herself that her partner was strong but to see him lifting a heavier man off his feet and throwing him good distance—was rather weird, she must say. He had couple of bruises due the fisticuffs he survived. A small smile escaped her lips when she saw a lump on his forehead, and his ever serious expressive face.

He was shooing away a medic, who was attempting to take a look whether the 'good' agent had any wounds on him and failing miserably.

_'Bullhead," _she thought to herself and walked towards both men.

"No I don't need it, no! Don't touch me!" He swatted the medic's arm and turned towards his partner, attempting to hide his lump from the medic. She nodded to the medic, implying that he is not needed. Now as she was near she found her partner looked like hell.

Donald Ressler, the uptight FBI Boy Scout with perfectly gelled hair and a scowl—looked exhausted. She could draw a pattern with a marker on the bags under his eyes and slightly pale face. Now indeed they were hunting a non-blacklister man for few hours, but it was not enough to make her partner look so exhausted, he appeared to have run out of gas. The slightly flushed cheeks, she assumed that he was pissed beyond his usual limit—was incorrect. She touched his forehead to realize that he was running a fever, now how come she had not recognized it sooner? The man hardly knew when to take rest even when he was running a fever.

"What the hell are you doing, Keen," he spoke still looking pissed.

"You're hot," awkwardly she removed her hand as soon as possible, and looked everywhere but him.

"Wow thanks," he drawled which she chose to ignore and stared at him skeptically.

"You're high on fever,"

"Thanks for noticing. Now if you may excuse me, I have to inform Cooper." As he turned around to take his leave, they heard their companions hollering at the said criminal. Liz saw big man holding a gun to his arresting officer head, grinning manically—half-cuff dangling in his bloodied right hand. The officer terrified panicked and gasped for breath. Seeing the distress, she panicked as well, the adrenaline made her lose focus, as she could not decide what was happening and what she should do. She did not realize that Ressler had his gun out before she did.

Taking a tentative step he moved forward, gun aimed at the big man whom he hurled not few moments ago.

"Put down the gun, Kerry." He spoke.

The vicious grin was still the there, as the man spit towards Ressler hoping it would reach the face, and sneered "Never."

"What's your problem? It's all over pal, now put down the gun and I swear you won't be walking out alive if you pull the trigger." He took another step towards him. Liz saw Ressler's hand which was trembling ever so slightly it looked like twitching every now and then. The officer surrounding them had their guns out as well, cautiously waiting for the right moment to turn the deal. She saw the officer struggling against the choke the man held on him. Making her decision she walked towards Ressler with her weapon drawn.

She heard Kerry laugh, "My problem is you Agent Ressler, maybe I should take an officer and a fed along with me!"

Her eyes widened when Ressler covered her by standing in-front of her, she wanted to protest but then she heard, "Maybe not…"

The gun shot rang and she was fully aware Ressler made his shot, fearing that she might be wrong—fearing that her partner had been the victim she jumped in-front of him. She saw the bigger man slumped against the vehicle while the officer safe and secured—panicky wobbled out. The bullet wound appeared on the perpetrators broken head, as bullet shattered the brain matters on the car behind him. Ressler took his shot perfectly, even though there was a risk to hurt or even kill the fellow officer, he took his chances.

While he appeared he was cool on the surface, she saw his hands trembling—to her, since she was nearer. She must discuss what was going on in his head, though she was starting to notice the man was getting borderline suicidal at work, taking unnecessary risk, never had he taken such risk till now—not if a life was on the line and that too— of an innocent. It was against the protocol, they expected him to be reasonable, to talk the man to stop, plead even—but Ressler, the man he was, blatantly ignored. Something was wrong with him, and it needed to be stopped, she concluded.

The whole ordeal was uneventful as it could get. They followed a lead, as the police burrowed them for a day and it turned out the lead was a criminal all along. Now just as stupid as it sound, the police work was even ridiculous, their work was sloppy—impartial even, the man was right under their noses and still they could not comprehended him—they called for the FBI, what bummer.

"Are you okay?" she asked her partner—concerned, and studied his body language, his expression and his eye movements trying to look for any problems, but she got none.

"Yes," Yes? He only responded with a yes? It was so damn frustrating, that never before had she met a man so close guarded as him, and it has been two years that they had been working together. Regardless, that he had shown her some moments of tenderness but after he discovered that she kept her husband alive as a prisoner only to be let freed later; he shut all his doors and secured himself, mentally—not to be broken again. He was back to his old self, the one she first met—like a machine. As much as she tried to pry—to probe into his psych, she could not. He either ignored or changed the subject to something else. He even stopped his daily enquiry about Reddington's whereabouts and even Tom's like he was not even interested at her life, at all. And she found it rather frustrating.

He was sure in trouble, the authority might take his actions into consideration of firing his weapon while the culprit held an innocent who might've gotten hurt or killed at this situation by him. What is wrong with him? She kept wondering about him, losing the track of time in the process. She didn't even realize their work here was done, at-least hers was, since Ressler might stay the night explaining why or why should not have taken his shot. He turned around to glance at her, while he was having a conversation with the panicked officer who was grateful, that he saved his life; completely ignoring that the agent also risked his life in the process. But everyone believed the man could take his shot perfectly, he was an elite agent after-all—some kind of superhero, knowing they asked for Ressler at the beginning, besides the chief was the father of a friend of his to begin with. She believed, he was over his addiction now—as his reaction time and over all agility and speed was better every time she saw him.

He still held the pissed off aura around him 24/7 only exception when he had been drinking—which she discovers rarely. She found out he had been smoking when he was anxious or stressed, not while he was on the Post Office or even at field; but he does smoke when he was alone, she caught him smoking at his home donning a heavy metal band's Tee-shirt and sweat pants blasting the same band's music. 'What? A man can't smoke when needed?' was his response. Even Cooper got the vibe that something was amiss of his favorite agent but since he splendidly finished his missions he kept quiet; also Reddington could not seem to crack the agent anymore. He was guarded very well—whatever unbreakable mental fortress he had built was not meant for anyone but him.

"Keen, I'll be staying here, you can go on without me, I'll be back tomorrow before noon for work." she hadn't realized he was talking to her now, somehow—she found her partner endearing as well as frustrating she concluded that she will dig deep until she finds what was wrong with him. She nodded unconsciously, and he took off without any formal farewell or goodnight wish, odd since he never missed a beat to wish her goodnight than a month ago when he just stopped. Three months to be exact—when he found out about Tom and her letting him lose. The months—she imagines that he stopped trusting her.

"No, I'll wait at the hotel. We need to talk." she resolved much to herself, that she needed to discuss the dispute or the wall that was built between them. He curtly nodded and went with a uniformed officer towards their department for the statements. Even though he did kept quiet about her source—lied to his superiors, which was for the first time—no, his addiction was first this was second. Regardless, he had lied for her and she found it rather—strange, she felt hope and something else, that is when she started seeing him differently; and she wouldn't dare to point it out.

She went back to the hotel where both had sheltered for the time being, and possibly they might get back to their State by morning. Her mulling halted when she realized she was at Ressler's door—staring at it intently. _Fuck it_, she conceded and got inside; might as well wait for him here while he was going through the process. She dragged herself towards the couch, and sprawled her whole body—sighing the relief of work load. The day was quiet uneventful that was for sure.

She entered her memory palace, towards the hallway and replayed the events that occurred not an hour ago, the man threatened to kill an FBI agent and Ressler shielded her. What was he thinking? She was perfectly capable of handling herself.

'_You could've been shot, and he was trying to protect you' _her inner Liz mused.

'_Yeah, well? He might've gotten shot. What was he thinking?'_ Her inner Elizabeth reasoned. "_He had been taking unnecessary risks these _days_,"_

She picked up a portrait of him with a gun and studied it raptly. And entered the past days, which she memorized with Ressler and recreated the events. She saw herself—petrified when Ressler jumped across one building to another, the distance was vast and so was the stories, 24th floor— and astonishingly he made it, by falling—crashing into the lower floor, below where their perpetrator was running ahead. The building they were in had walls made of glass, but not the other, and seeing both of them—the alarmed culprit tried to run down. But her bullheaded partner—whatever got into him, stormed across towards the glass firing his gun to weaken the glass wall and flung his body across—a good twenty feet distance. Her heart stopped, panicked that he made the jump to death she ran towards the edge and saw her partner; on the floor below, catching the surprised bad guy. She could swear she wanted to shoot Ressler right then and there in blinding rage. He could've died!

She placed the portrait at its own place and studied another where was he was smiling on a parachute, she became furious—that he had tried to kill himself not then but other time as well, that is when he was on an undercover mission all alone and miraculously he came back all right with limited bruises and a bloody lip. The report said, he skydived without a parachute from 12000 feet in order to catch a man, who apparently had his parachute open, and successfully her stubborn, brave or stupid agent got him, eventually brining the man to justice. He was either too brave or too stupid to realize he made two suicide attempts on the line of duty within two months.

It was like he came straight from an over-the-top action movie starring Rambo, and he was damn lucky to make it out alive every single time. When Copper found out that he had taken a serious leap of faith, he was furious. Though he did not detain him or suspend him, but let him away with a warning—since he caught a most wanted terrorist red handed and alive. She sighed dismissing the turmoil everyone felt knowing Ressler was being stupid other than Aram, who mistaking the stupidity as bravery admired him in a whole new level, possibly there may be a legion of fans in the FBI due to this particular stunt.

Exiting her memory palace, she sighed and another wave of déjà vu struck her conscious. Strangely her partner had been suicidal all this time and she didn't even realized till now. She felt guilt—she was supposed to be a profiler, yet she failed to understand her partner had been melancholic all these days. But, the reason why? She wondered if she was behind it. Doubtful, that was he even melancholic to begin with? She had no idea; she could hardly profile him anymore. She might need help; she may involve Red from now on. She considered calling him right then, but decided she must wait to talk to Ressler first. So she waited, not realizing she was already asleep.

Meanwhile, Ressler had given his statement to their chief who was the father of his old friend. And, surprisingly, they had no hidden grudge against his actions, rather they were grateful that their novice officer was alive and well with his family. He must confess he was stupefied watching the older man smiling at him, although when he said he had informed his superior, Ressler grimaced—which went unnoticed by the optimistic older man. Cooper might call him in on Board, he was certain. Ressler nodded as he was excused after giving his statement, even though the victim's attorney might be at his door anytime, he was certain he was not in trouble since the man was a high profile criminal to begin with.

He met a uniform, who wanted to drop him off at their hotel, which he sincerely declined and called in a cab. He dropped himself at a local mart near the hotel, buying himself a pack of cigarettes—not like the hotel did not provide a good pack of smoke; he reminded himself they might be under scrutiny that a FBI agent was smoking in their hotel. Buying a couple of gum to chew in his way out, he was back on the path. Dragging the nicotine inside his lungs he rubbed the back of his neck, replaying what had occurred the whole day.

He remembered vaguely that he unconsciously stepped in-front of Liz, he had not known she was behind him at all. He was too focused on the man's forehead and his rasp breathing, calming his nerves to take his shot. He deduced the man had a death wish to begin with, so he gave it to him. His thoughts went to Liz, it was a damn common sense to draw the weapon when facing an armed perpetrator, but what the hell was she thinking? She was a field agent to begin with and had her fair share of experience—yet, but still her deduction and decision making capabilities were clouded. At times he just wanted to smack her head to bring her to sense. She still acted novice, although he did not know if it was intentional or something else.

The hotel was few walking distance away, as he dragged his feet along the pathway passing the dark alleys in his way. She dropped a bomb on him when she confessed that she had Tom under her wings, considering him as her source against Reddington or Berlin or whoever the fuck those criminals were. He could care less, about them anymore—they were all similar to each other no matter the denial. He just wanted to strangle each of them until they turn blue. He was glad, thankful even; that he got Mako's head in a box by Reddington, but that was it. It was not like he was indebted to him, if that was what the man was thinking. He could wipe him from the existence if he gets the chance, his cunning be damned. If Reddington was cunning, then he was stubborn; he could track the man even if he hid in hell.

Donald Ressler was a simple man, with simple thoughts and opinion about the world. Every day he woke up with a pissed off mood that he had work to attend, get ready for a morning run and then work, and experience a hell bent day, get home late and sleep like a fucking log then repeat. And by having a partner who can't even take a simple decision whether to take a shot or not is too damn complicated for a simple man like him. He was not a profiler, he was a soldier—he had his fair share of experience of battle and guilt, he became an agent so that he could cope with the guilt of people he had killed deemed as collateral damage, had he known if they were innocent or criminals he didn't know. At-least now he gets the information whether the man he was hunting was a criminal or not. He liked to stay prepared.

The only thing that always complicates a simple man was a woman. And he had experienced complications with two women in his life, first Audrey Bidwell, the woman who died because he was indecisive along with his unborn child, and another his work partner, Elizabeth Keen. The case with Audrey was always simple but she always made it complicated, even though things became simple with them just the way he wanted, but not for long. Since then he conceded never again he shall be indecisive. And Elizabeth Keen was a complete different case for his simplicity; she was even more confusing to observe than Audrey.

_What do you expect? She is a profiler._

_True. True._

But that should be enough reason to know act like an agent first and not like an emotional lady.

_Are you saying we should stop feeling?_

_No, I'm just implying that emotions clouds judgments, and in our line of work, emotions usually hinders the mission, often compromises it._

Hell he was a walking victim, or rather Audrey was. And even the people who died around him also the people he had killed after tricking them. Did he felt guilty? He often wondered about it… Ressler exhaled the smoke through his nose and mused he was a machine after-all and the tag was imprinted so deep in his consciousness that he acted like one. The only woman who— ever shattered his walls were Audrey and he did fell for her—genuinely, a man like him—if ever loved anyone then that person would be his finality, and Audrey was his finality. And what more would a simple man like him ask in his life? A smile on the face of a woman he loved; who will heartily welcome him after a long day at work; and who would repel all his frustrations, work issues, and guilt with her sunshine like smile—a man like him couldn't ask for more. And Audrey was his 'one', his beloved, and the one died because of his damn indecisiveness.

He flicked the butt towards a dark alley, and chewed down one the gum he bought not moments ago. A minty flavor exploded on his tongue, and he chewed ravenously— he was angry at whatever things that had occurred in his life, well anger was natural to him. Elizabeth Keen was the reason behind his mental torment, he frequently asked himself the question—what is she to you, Donald?

He would not deny the woman did grow on him, as she shared most of her professional time with him. Inquiring his habits, his thoughts and opinions—pointing the obvious awkwardness he held whenever he was embarrassed of something, or at something the Batman Reddington had spewed out of his mouth. She did break him at one point; the case with Stewmaker mellowed him towards her, as he opened his own old wounds so that she could relate to him, in which he succeeded. And then after the Anslo Garrick ordeal, the arrival of Audrey proved too much for a one-track minded simple Ressler.

The machine registered feelings on his system. After Audrey died, he couldn't shut himself to the woman Elizabeth. And by the time she knocked on his door for the first time, the man showed complication—and malfunctioned occurred on his simple system. There was something about her, and to that he found himself drawn towards. He found himself wanting to share his life stories, and he wanted to know her in a personal level. So he gradually became friends with her, they spent a great deal of time together even after work; they shared few drinks and stories together; he didn't considered her close and neither did she. Both held their secrets, but once he did considered and wondered if he could ever get close to her. He knew her own personal relationship with her husband was falling, and he felt sympathy—which he rarely did for anyone. Ressler did not spoke about it since he was dealing with his addiction by getting addicted some more.

His leg was fine now, but whenever he pushed his body to the limit or more, it sure hurt—like the day when he pursued a suspect who was an efficient parkour athlete; his leg killed itself when he left for bed. And the time when he flung himself across one building to another, and he hurt his right shoulder blade and right leg. But the pain was temporary, and glory was forever. So he pushed himself further—he liked the adrenaline rush he felt, and he was damn lucky that the consequences were never severe. He felt alive and immortal, so he kept gambling his life more and more—fearing less and less.

He saw the hotel entrance, nodding his acknowledgment to the receptionist he entered the elevator and went straight to the 4th floor were both of them stayed. Keen's room was beside his'; he abruptly remembered she wanted to talk about something, so he rapped on her door which went unanswered. He called out her name and rapped some more momentarily—but still no answer. He checked his wrist watch which displayed it was half past 10—he lost track of time while he was at Police head quarter. He wondered where she could be at this time of night. Perhaps on the lobby talking with Reddington secretly or her "source" he grimaced further. It was entirely possible she might be meeting one of them. He clenched his teeth, grinding the gum between his molars.

Ressler dialed her number which went directly to voice-mail; he abruptly ended the call and briskly sauntered towards the elevator, hoping he might find her in the lobby—he angrily pushed the button and waited till he went straight to the ground floor. He went straight towards the receptionist, and enquired whether he had seen his partner, but he replied, that he just started his shift. Getting the idea, he walked towards a couch and sprawled comfortably, he decided that he would wait for her there.

Ressler thoughts were mostly about cases, and Reddington held the majority of it and why not? He went straight to him after joining the FBI, 5 years he spent tracking and planning an assassination, and he succeeded—almost, but Reddington survived, and the circumstances changed and since then he has been working ''for'' him for over a year now. The man had a vice grip on their department, immune to the threats—a threat which he carried. If only Cooper gives his permission then he would strangle the man and could take on his bodyguard or whoever he got under his resources. Ressler was perfectly capable of it; else he wouldn't be an elite agent to begin with.

Reddington infuriated him, and he was a complex man to be understood by a simple man such as Ressler. The good agent knew the man despised him and the feeling was mutual, but despising was one thing and working together is another. He felt that the only thread that connected them was Liz, if it weren't for her they won't be interacting with each other, and that was for sure. The older wiser man taunted him for his simple mindedness, mocked him for his usual bullheaded nature and joked about his uptight confidence. Reddington infuriated him, and he couldn't wait for the time where he could get his hands on his throat. It will not be a walk in the park that is for sure, the man had his unlimited resources and that shadow of a bodyguard—but he is Donald Ressler, a force not to be reckoned with.

He was grateful that he saved his life, and he would've done it too if they switched places—no doubt about it. And the day, he sent him his "gift", that is when he remained indifferent, the opinion was the same, he despised him and it will never change; Reddington was his mission nothing more and nothing less. He was not indebted to him like Liz believed him to be, and Reddington never helped anyone without possessing an agenda of his own. He knew the older man had plans which he might carry out in future, probably a favor—which he could see forthcoming.

And another part of his mind occupied Elizabeth Keen. The moment she told him that her husband was alive and well—kept as a personal prisoner as a source of what she hadn't told him, he lost whatever respect he regarded her as an agent. She lied to her superiors, to him and he was her partner, this expressed her lack of trust in him and by that time he believed he could trust her and everything changed. If she does not trust him, then there was no point of trusting her. The honorable part of him, which considered her as his friend made him lie as well—to his superiors, and he reverted back to the robot he was to begin with.

He drew an imaginary line between them, and their professional and personal boundaries remained solely theirs but they were friends still. The machine he was, kept mostly to himself unless— off-course if he had been drinking, which was quiet a lot for a simple man like him. The loneliness was quite unbearable and the alcohol blurred his thoughts enough for him to not dwell in that darkness. And he feared that darkness, his darkness—alcohol fought the darkness where often he questioned his sanity. He was his sanest when he was doing his job and if left alone, everything around him becomes nightmarish; the simple world he clung to was threatened if he was left alone. And Liz had been the light, but after finding out—or doubting the trust, he severed the ties he held with her which held him from the shadows. So he extracted his old metal albums from his teenage years—his days of rebellion and blasted his head off every time he found himself lonely with a few pack of beers—and strangely it worked.

So every weekend he finds himself a gig to attend nearby bars or theatres if he had no work to spare and enters the mosh-pit if there was any. He finds himself awfully comfortable there, as he commences a beat down in which fellow metalheads beat the snot out of each other; that is where he unleashes his frustration blissfully and getting the same treatment in return. He visits gigs not as an FBI agent but an angry man who loves the music—metalhead Ressler who loves thrashing his arms and legs all over the place, not caring whom it will hit or caring who hit him at that place. The music held his sanity—for now, and he did not care much about the world then. It was always later, where it was difficult to explain the wounds or bruises which he explained as scratches he got from apprehending a perpetrator or getting mauled by a pet. It was silly he knew, but he was sane and he was happy and there was nothing to speak off.

He kept waiting occasionally prancing out and about towards the main doorway, and musing to himself until someone asked him what he was doing there. He glanced towards the wall clock which hung behind the receptionist, and noted he had been there for an hour now. People were slightly unnerved looking at him, his face was still flushed as he was running a fever; his eyes bloodshot and raspy breathing labeled him not an agent but something else. He nodded the middle aged woman who brought him back from his trance by her inquiry. Choosing not to reply, he nodded and briskly walked towards the elevator and pressed on 4th floor.

_Fuck it! I'm going to sleep!_ His brain growled, he walked towards his room and turned the doorknob.

Elizabeth Keen was suddenly awake as she realized she had been snoring. Embarrassed at the thought of having her partner there she abruptly stood up only to be met with silence. She turned around to face the small LED watch which implied it was half-an-hour till midnight. Her mind raced running scenarios of why her partner was not there yet. Had he been confiscated? Was he in trouble? Did the police cuff him? She took out her phone and heard the door clicked shut behind her.

Her heart skipped, panicked at the thought of invading her partner's privacy while he was out. Her eyes followed his appearance resting on his fist which was clenched so closed it was whitening.

_'Is he angry? Something must've happened back there. Hell, whenever he isn't angry?'_ She caught his gaze upon her, and she assumed she saw a brief flash of shock and wrath; whether it was directed at her or himself she cannot say, but whatever it was—he looked furious.

It was quiet between them, and she heard him breathing loudly as if calming his nerves. He looked like hell, as she remembered he was feverish; and concerned she walked towards him finding his eyes closed.

"Are you okay?" she asked not entirely sure of what she should expect for an answer. His eyes fell upon her again, and this time it was guarded like ever he kept it around her. And Elizabeth Keen, not for once ignored her own arising rage kept quiet and stared right at him, "What went there?"

"Yes," was all he said, getting past her towards the bathroom to wash his exhausted face, "They were awfully friendly, like nothing had ever occurred at all? I must confess I was rather crept out there you know. It felt like they appreciated my actions, even justifying killing the man—while ignoring I risked their man's life"

Liz had followed him straight towards the bathroom and leaned against the door-frame. Watching him intently, hoping to pick up some traits to deduce if was speaking the truth or not but failing miserably. Nevertheless, she smiled imagining his discomposure with an agitated look on his face, squirming on his seat uncomfortably so that he could be excused to his home. Then she berated herself, knowing the man—he was much more professional than anyone she had ever met. She snapped out of her reverie when she saw him leaning on the sink looking—appreciating her after many days for once, while still remaining guarded.

"So what is it that you wanted to discuss?" He knew exactly what she wanted to ask, but still he rolled the dice.

"Listen… I… I was... "She fidgeted voicing, the right words to express her thoughts about his refusal to share anything her, but found it rather stupefying. Uncertainty clouded her profile; she reminded that she should confirm whether she was right or not. He was still open, he talked about him loving—or starting to love the heavy metal music again after his teenage years. He shared stories of his involvement at a gig from which he was thrown out of because he was underage. She knew, as he told her about the day when he first asked Audrey for a date; and the events that occurred when he was undercover. So was she wrong about him? Or was it simply because she was paranoid?

He grunted inwardly and stood in-front of her, boring a hole into her eyes—as if ordering her to move aside. And rage build up inside her once again.

"What the hell Ressler! Why are you ignoring me?" She almost screamed, but she controlled her voice, the last thing she wanted was to argue before they went to sleep. And she knew it won't help them sleeping anyway.

His eyes never left hers' as he bailed out and sauntered towards his bedroom and she followed mechanically. She was here for answers and she would get it no matter what, and she already had made up her mind. He spoke calmly, "Tell me, Liz, when I have ever ignored you?"

She sworn she heard him speak and not Reddington because he channeled the older man's path to her mind. And she struggled, to reply cause she knew he was responsive, he answered her all well, questioned her good. He was exactly the same like he was the day other. Then from where had she been getting the idea that he had ignored her?

"Why did you do that?" Choosing she should try her luck by evading, and not dwell deeper on her thoughts about him.

"Do what?"

"Covering me, when he said that he would shoot an agent?"

"I didn't know you were in the line of his vision, Keen." Hearing the genuine statement with his well guarded expression she concluded he was disinterested in her argument. He rarely called her that outside, hell even when they were working; though he depended on calling her husband's fake surname to imply she got no power over him. She was stepping over a boundary, which he clearly found out by her demand. Was she that easy to read? She was the profiler God damn it not him! He casually, stripping off from his suit and the shirt he looked at her, pointing her—implying her that he needed privacy, she should take her leave, he added calmly, "Anything else you would like to add? Listen Liz, we've both had a tiresome day, and you look exhausted. You should get some sleep."

"You did it intentionally Don! You knew I was there!" She knew she was raging more, and if rage could put some sense in him then so be it, she conceded. He sighed dejectedly, and it reminded her of all those time when he tricked her into coming out of her concern for him. Her eyes found his, and actually for once found concern in them.

"Liz, I swear, I did not know. I was too occupied in the situation that I didn't realize you were behind me. Why don't you trust me?"

Trust me? That is when she stopped her concerns for the man, trust. That was the issue, she knew—he stopped trusting her after knowing she lied about everything. Her paranoia constricted her in a vice grip and she swallowed the lump which formed on her throat. He did not trust her, then why should she? Why does she even care?

"Goodnight Ressler." She robotically made her decision as she turned around to retrieve her coat from the hangar which was near the door frame of the hall. Hoping he would arrive sooner to prevent her from leaving, and talk about his issues. She paused before the door—hoping, but he did not show up, and she reasoned that she was not welcome near him, not anymore. She slammed the door deliberately her way out, making sure he knew she was angry, and stormed towards her room.

Hearing the door slammed, he rubbed his forehead—his headache was getting worse, "What was that all about?" he murmured to no one in particular.

Why are women so damn complicated? He switched into his sweat pants and sprawled on his bed, killing the lights out, he fell asleep within few minutes.

Why all the men in her life had to be so damn complicated? What bunch of obnoxious assholes are they. Her questions, her puzzlement—not only the topic of Reddington was so much to handle, but there was her husband too; and now to add Ressler into the mess was too much for her to ask. She sincerely missed his attempts at dry humor, his never ceasing anger and his imminent scowl 24/7, she missed her only friend. Now he seemed rather—bizarre, a stranger, even as a profiler she always failed to decipher him. Her lifetime of criminal psychology and profiling experience could not crack his shell.

"He is not a criminal, of-course your profiling would not work on him. It never worked on Red or even Tom" she was speaking to herself. "Admit it; you don't know those few men in your life."

At-least now, she knew what her husband was, a terrorist, a spy, a teacher, and her lover perhaps? Part of her still held on to the feelings she had for him which were genuine. She often dreamed about him, their sweet kisses, their fun nights and the cooking, the happiness they shared. Part of her still believed he was not a threat to her; he could've ended her life the first time they met. But he did not, as he was planted carefully—so he could build a wall surrounding both of them and he was successful. Did she despise him for that? That is a question could not be answered, perhaps because of not having an answer she freed him.

She merged perfectly with her partner and found it quite similar to that Ressler. Both had someone that they could despise, as him with Red, like Tom to her. Regardless, Ressler not liking the older man, he has slightly mellowed down towards Red after Audrey died for some reason, she saw. There always was a little flicker in his eyes whenever when Red called him Donnie or perhaps she was just imagining it. She traced his face whenever Red was around, to see his stiff posture, a defensive stance—and she did saw, but nowadays, Ressler seemed rather—distracted, that is what she saw… she might be wrong.

He did not roll his eyes, when Red passed a snarky remark on his intelligence neither he retorted to the slight provocations. But she saw, how Red reacted to this new agent, much like her he was surprised, but kept quiet and his expression not betrayed the thoughts. Although he did asked her once—this time she was surprised, knowing he seemed—almost concerned for the good agent. She smiled knowingly, for reason that the man was concerned for Ressler's well being. If only she knew how she could help him out of his self-induced misery—if there was any.

She only removed her jacket and jumped into her bed, making herself comfortable—she was lulled to sleep by the thin sound of vehicles and the little whispering of breeze of the night.

Exact seven hours later, she woke up to her cellphone ring; and in her grogginess her eyes could not seem to comprehend the name, so she rubbed it with the heel of her palms. She picked it up anyway, and a very familiar voice greeted her, or rather ordered her—to gear up so they could go back to their post office as soon as possible. Ressler did not even bother to wish her a good morning, and her day began irate. Rolling out from her bed, she entered her bathroom to tend to her things.

_To Be Continued_

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><p><em>AN:_ _Fingers crossed._

I really don't know how to end a chapter with a cliffhanger, but I'll learn eventually. Pardon me, if Lizzie seemed whiny or too mellow but not to worry, everyone is a badass in future. Oh and yeah, I don't know much about procedures and protocols the FBI follows, I'm not an American but I'll try my best and research more about it for future predicaments. P.S. I may not update for about a month since my semester is on board this whole January. Till then I'm off~ and oh yeah, Happy New Year.


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N_** Just one more test left but I'm least worried about it as last few days went uneventful anyway. So, here I am with another chapter of_ Ressler. _I must imply that Raymond Reddington might show up as a special guest character in this chapter. And I don't think this chapter will direct the story to the main plot, but fundamentally it will furnish the path to the said story. I really appreciate your precious reviews, and for which I'm really thankful—it is really inspiring and enormously motivating. There are days where I get doubtful thinking I might not reach towards the ending, and seeing you all—following the story and reviewing is really prompting me to finish this as soon as possible but in an interesting way. Certainly, there will be twists and turns, I assure you.

The characters may seem OOC I apologize, but I think it is important for me to learn character development so, please tolerate for few more chapters. :P

Oh and by the way, I have no idea how the paramedics work… just so you know.

**_Disclaimer:_** The Blacklist belongs to Mr. Bokenkamp and NBC.

**Warning: **Contains coarse language, and may contain factual errors, grammatical errors and spelling mistakes. 

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><p><em><strong>RESSLER<strong>_

_Chapter 3: Issues_

Donald Ressler woke up exactly at half past five, it was his habit. No matter when he slept he habitually woke up at that time only, for a morning run and this time was not special. He got out of bed, and casually worked his way in and out the bathroom. Realizing he had no workout gear for a run, he worked out in the hall room. During the workout he wondered that he should call Liz and wake her up to get ready, but decided against it—she needed sleep. So he concluded he will call her at seven o'clock to be exact. He finished his indoor workout and entered his shower, totally refreshed to start another monotonous day. He changed back to his white shirt and black slacks, and walked out of the room.

His eyes fell upon his neighboring door and fought off the need to knock on it, wondering she would be asleep. Cursing inwardly, he walked towards the elevator and got into the lobby. He dined alone which was a lone hot coffee to boost his robotic mechanism for a whole day.

Ressler mind never wandered off to any particular part of his memory palace, fearing that he might find something distressing or melancholic, so he kept it simple. Preserving the cases he had solved, or everything that was written on the book of Law, and FBI protocols, he recited those instead of thinking—or wasting his time to decipher whatever secrets the Keens held and what Red was plotting as he liked to remain few steps ahead of everyone.

He preferably missed his days as a soldier, he enrolled young and was the best amongst the best—which is why he was among the youngest elite soldier to conduct Special Operations. And his simplicity and stubborn nature played great importance in his missions, he was deemed bright by his superiors. He did a total of five major and few minor operations in three years which mostly included military intelligence, unconventional warfare, counter-insurgency, and counter-terrorism and he did few guerilla operations. Which is why, the FBI found his résumé the shiniest. And which is why after few months of his work as an agent, and he arose to be the best there as well—since he was selected as the task force leader to hunt down the FBI's most wanted criminal Raymond Reddington. And that is when he found out that life was not as simple as it seems, and he could not remain victorious for long.

There was one reason he left the Army and joined the FBI because Audrey wanted him to, as both were engaged, and she feared that she might lose him on a far away soil. But his simple mind and his need to be the best eventually led them into estrangement, and she left for his obsessive mind set on the job to be done. He blamed Reddington, his young mind decided that he needed to blame it on someone else to cope his lose—then gradually he knew the problem was Donald Ressler to begin with.

He was always the problem in his life; he was a disappointment in his father's eyes though his mother was rather fond of him. He got involved in teenage delinquency, smoking and drinking—creating nuisance often bullying, and it was Audrey who brought the torch to enlighten him. She was his stability, his sensibility—an anchor and she proved his parents their son was not a delinquent as they made him to be. It was of her and her alone for whatever he is till day. His father never approved of her, as he implied she seemed quite manipulative and somewhat short-tempered. And she was the subject of debate and the never ceasing dispute between them. He was shocked for the crookedness he had when he deliberately chose to ignore his mother's plea to see his father on his death bed. He was shattered thereafter, when his mother decided not to see him anymore. He carried the guilt, and even Audrey couldn't seem to make it erase.

He saw the time, and it was seven o'clock in the morning—and the streets were slowly filling up they'll be late by the time they reach D.C. He speed dialed Liz, and spoke in his usual monotony, "Liz, we have to reach Post Office by noon. So get ready." And he cursed realizing it came out as an order.

He went to his hotel room, to retrieve his bag pack—he locked his door in his way out; and stared at his partner's door for about a minute, wondering if he should knock or not. Yet decided against knocking as she might be getting ready, he sent her a text to meet him at where they parked their car. He decided to listen to some music while browsing the internet in order to serve the waiting, as she might take her time.

About thirty seven minutes later Elizabeth saw the text that Ressler had sent her. She hurriedly tended her hair and applied few make up before carrying herself towards his location.

She found him in their car, bobbing his head—saw the headphone in his ears. A morose smile escaped her lips remembering their little aggressive verbal exchanges; it was the first time she saw him like this, guard down—not caring about the world, without any paranoia. When she got nearer, she saw his eyes closed and a scowl on his face and deducted it might be his favorite genre, heavy metal. She reminded she was supposed to be angry at him, so she channeled her inner Donald Ressler on her face, scowling herself. She entered her passenger which alarmed the agent; he snapped his head towards the source and found a scowling Liz.

"You ready?" he asked awkwardly, removing his headphones and disconnecting the jack from his phone—and will well guarded mask was on.

"No, I was just going for a walk,"

He completely disregarded her sarcasm; he put the engine on ignition and steered out towards the road "Slept well?"

"No." She lied. She was out cold as soon as she hit the mattress. He just nodded, and stared ahead occasionally glancing towards her. She found his gaze calculating—as she knew what he might be thinking; he was probably deducting her issues within his mind all alone. Her husband or Red was always the reason she could not sleep at night, she dreamt of her lovely life she shared with Tom before he came out as something else. She did not have nightmares, never; it was all pleasant in her dreams. Ressler narrowed his eyes and looked out like he knew what she was thinking. They drove for few miles, smoothly avoiding other vehicles. It was silent for about an hour, but then she was all done. Her vision found Ressler's—his eyes on the road with a thoughtful expression almost lost somewhere.

"Ressler, I've had enough of your bullshit. Stop giving the silent treatment to everyone and for once talk to us, talk to me." She was sincere and her resolve firm, but he intentionally chose to keep his eyes on the track.

"What are you talking about, Liz? I talk to you every day."He replied awfully casual. She knew he was evading, but as stubborn as she was, she will not give up until he speaks about.

"You know that was the most stupid fucking thing you've ever said, I'm impressed Ressler, you're outdoing yourself at this too…" Her rage build up intensely, as her face flushed—fuming, she further voiced, "Every time I try to talk to you— you either avoid or evade completely and I'm getting tired of everyone blatantly lying to me!"

Ressler jaw clenched, and his temper flared — escalating and his grip tightened around the steering wheels. She saw his knuckles turning white, and his lips drawn in a single line; the vein on his temple became visible. Then she became worried as his expression, became blank—almost as a man with no face.

"I am lying to you?" he did not yell or spat, yet his voice remain impassive—deep and strong with declaration, "Please care to explain this, Liz, if I remember precisely it was you who had been keeping secrets and lies behind everyone's back. Ever since your arrival you've withheld information about your husband, and even Red—hell even your past."

He did not turn towards Elizabeth, yet she imagined his eyes boring into her skull—as a rampant boar attacking a small cub mercilessly. He interjected, before she remarked, "How many years, Keen, it took you to realize your husband and Red both have been lying, and you still trust them. Yet you dare to point me, an honest man living an honest life to be lying and not trust me. Great Keen, you've impressed me again with your amateurish deduction capabilities, despite having two years of field work experience and lifetime of profile studies. I want to applaud, but I am driving."

"Is that it? You're distrustful, and don't be making your own assumptions like you know what I've been and going through. I didn't ask for any of it!" she gritted her teeth, preventing the urge to hit her partner so fucking hard that he would feel like he kissed a freight train.

"You're right I don't know shit. Neither do I want to know nor be a part of it, I'll stay the fuck away from it— your life and you stay out of mine." She found his eyes on her, and it was still blank, and she found the car to be rather cold, not from the temperature—but from looking at his cold dead eyes.

"Is that what you want us to be?" He did not reply, but rather let his eyes wandered towards the rear view mirror and then back at her. Her anger fled looking at him now, she realized she saw something else in his blue eyes, she hoped it was regret. She got her answer and she kept quiet about it.

He uttered further but Liz kept quiet, "What do _you _want me to be?"

Not bothering to answer, Liz turned towards the opposite side staring blankly at her own reflection at the window.

What is Ressler to her? Clearly, she held no secrets to him; and she proved it from time to time but she did not blame him for believing so. She even hid his addiction a secret amongst the other she had. _'And he held yours_'

Her life was a mess, losing her biological parents at a relative young age—the worst part was she could not remember the time and its events. Losing her adoptive mother as well, she heavily relied on Sam on her teenage years. She met Tom when she was twenty one, and the timing was perfect—she was getting through a bad break up—and he was only a rebound then. Yet her own conscience stirred and she thought that she should pursue him, as he did had—or rather pretended to be in love with her. He supported her throughout her FBI training days, and even after. However, everything changed when Raymond Reddington arrived at the black site and demanded to speak with her. Ever since then her life was a mess. She found out her husband was not what she believed him to be.

But she did loved the man, even still does—sort of. And she hoped he still carried or shared the same feelings for her, after living with her for most part of her life. The reason she released him, was she could not come up with the strength to carry out an execution all by herself. So, she sought out for Ressler, hoping he would do something—anything to him. Yet, he remained composed, little anxious but still composed. She knew he would not bring harm upon her husband as long as she did not tell him to; for which she was glad, for having a friend like him.

He remained silent, his lips sealed about her life. Who knew a brutally honest and loyal man such as him could lie to the FBI for her? He held a strict moral code of honor, which she was aware of—and it must've been difficult for him to do so. Yes, she was grateful. She indeed conceived him as her good friend. But why is it so difficult for him to share the same view as her? Every time she spoke about Tom and Red, his expressions were vaguely blank. She sought his eyes, only to fail reading it; he was being indifferent.

"Hungry?" he broke the uncomfortable muteness and she simply nodded approval.

They took a small break, finding a food court they parked in the driveway towards a local restaurant on the highway to have their breakfast. Within fifteen minutes, they were back on the road, and Cooper called in to remind them to reach as soon as possible. He surprised Liz, by using the siren to drive faster.

He was slightly unnerved by her gaze who was questioning—or perhaps just surprised, "What?"

"Are you Agent Ressler?"

And he genuinely startled her by smiling—a literal lopsided one after so many days. Liz found herself smiling at him too forgetting the little conflict, and he chuckled which turned into fleets of laughter. Her eyebrows furrowed and she did found the situation amusing. Here he was chuckling to her particular caustic remark, yet she could not help but smile.

"It's—it's just funny..." He smirked and stared ahead at the road. "Your face,"

"What's wrong with my face?"

"The way you see when you're about to make some smartass remark,"

"Uh huh" she mirrored his smirk with her own.

He snickered some more and his eyes were then on the road, "And sorry, I've been an ass with you..." And she was interested; as he was opening up once again to her. "It's just too much work nowadays, and this damn fever." He lied.

She saw right through his feeble attempt to presence, everyone knew the man doesn't know how to lie—that is the sole purpose he usually evades direct confrontation or ignore. She was slightly disappointed, but did not reasoned, she remained calm. If he wanted to talk, then he would—no need to force him to speak about his problems anymore.

They drove silently for few hours reaching into the city limits, completely relaxed. They spoke about the things they normally did. Ressler's nose was violent scarlet, and his face visibly pale—hair slightly unkempt and his voice was marginally distorted due to the cold flu. She wondered how he still carried himself so indifferently when he was sick—he even took a clean shot despite the shaking hand. Pondering whether he was a human or not in reality. She was fairly acquainted with his peak physical condition, regardless of his body structure, which was not bulky or shredded—though he was splendidly conditioned. She held high regards for it, as she believed he could match Bolt in sprinting, and could lift substantial weight, even twice as him for short period as he demonstrated every while then lifting and slamming heavier opponents. He was ridiculous for a human being, she knew he served the U.S. Army for few years before he became an agent—but the missions were confidential to say the least. She had no prior knowledge of him—just few, which were mentioned in his files and others he would speak of.

_Dear God! You hardly know him. _She reflected.

"Ressler?" he did not turn around just made a slow hmm as acknowledgement. "You served the Army, right?"

He nodded, "Served the nation, mind you."

She smiled, "Where were you stationed?"

"A little bit of here, little bit of there. Afghanistan, Iraq the usual— you should know though." Her nod was only a fabrication, he was avoiding.

"Why did you leave the Army?"

"Audrey."

"Oh" Awkward.

"If it weren't for her, I had no intention to leave the job. It was satisfying—simple, for a man like me."

He never talked about his dead fiancée/girlfriend or whatever he considered her. Even after her death, he mostly kept his thoughts about her to himself—not sharing his nightmares. He dealt with his pain alone. Elizabeth by no means, felt sorry for him as he was similar to her in some way. Both had no one to attend at home, even had their fair share of emotional turmoil. The only thing that differ them, that she relied on Red for most part and even him at some part, but Ressler, was exception. He had no Red in his life; neither had he regarded her as a person he could rely on. But his addiction, that was the subject when leaned on her for the first time. That was it, since then he seldom addressed his issues, often snarled, or grunted in annoyance whenever she brought up the subject to discuss.

"Who was a junkie not few months prior?" She bit her tongue realizing it rolled out jeeringly, it was not intentional. Her thoughts carried the words and it spilled on her lips. Ressler grimaced. She had to apologize fast.

_"Nice tactic to ruin his mood, Elizabeth."_

He shrugged, and turned towards her to rebuke. Her eyes widened in horror when she saw an SUV racing towards their car from his side.

"RESSLER!"

It rammed straight into them, Ressler, luckily did not take straight damage but the door vehemently grazed as she jumped sideways and turned the steering to the right. But the car's momentum and his foot on acceleration flung the vehicle—flipping uncontrollably few yards, rolling and flipping. And, Elizabeth was out cold.

Ressler's brain shot too much adrenaline, yes, that is what he needed to rebuke the woman who had been annoying for the past few months, constantly reminding him of his lingering addiction from which he was getting over. Not realizing a vehicle speeding towards them until Liz screamed his name. It struck like a ten ton heavy giant sledgehammer on his left. His foot shoved on the acceleration in anticipation of pain, yet Liz managed to turn the car sideways lessening the impact. But the speed of their vehicle hurled the machine few yards, and them inside it. Everything was spinning on his vision; he caught a glimpse of Liz's head which crashed into his arms—eyes closed.

His head slammed into the car's side window, yet he remained awake—gritting his teeth, he reached his right arm to press on the roof to keep himself steady. Although he wished that Liz better not be unconscious for that matter. As the rolling stopped, he caught his breath—calming his nerves to understand their situation. His Special Force training kicked in, and he hurriedly removed the seat belts; struggling a little bit to shake of the dull ache of his head and blurry vision. By chance, thankfully— they were not upside down; he saw Liz knocked out cold.

Ears ringing he could hardly hear anything outside the box where it seemed they were. However, his line of vision peeked through the secured window glasses, of few people approaching— mechanically. Trouble, they were armed and covered in camouflaged clothes, black. They busted Liz's side of the door open and in a swift motion they removed her from the seat.

"Fuck!" Ressler immediately sprung into action, he grabbed the hand of a retriever and pulled the assailant towards him. With a vice like grip, he snaked his arm around the attacker's arm in an attempt to dislocate it. Taking off the keys from the ignition, he drove straight into the man's neck, and another near his eyes which were fortunately protected, they were wearing protective gears. He was heaved from behind not realizing the door on his side was sprung open. One man pulled him out, struggling as Ressler held the screaming assailant with his strong arm. Liz was still on her seat, and the attacker upon her. The other attacker on his side attempted to choke him unconscious, but Ressler managed to struggle his way out of his arms, and fell on his back on the road.

He rolled backwards, and few more came to help the attacker, all wearing similar clothes. One jumped on him in an effort to pin him, yet Ressler again rolled sideways. The adrenaline could do wonders, and he was familiar with the rush and the training experience he had underwent along with his combat effectiveness made him lethal. He recognized, they could not use their weapons as he was fighting with three of their men; they cannot take a shot unless if they want to lose men.

'Don't go down! Don't go down! Stay on your feet!' he kept repeating on his mind.

Batons? And taser?—the worst thing that a wounded man with flu could ever see during a fight. His ears had been picking noises, mostly the hollering of men and few screams on the side walk. Yet with his struggle he plucked Liz's voice—her yelling to the other man who was heaving her on his shoulder.

'_At-least she's conscious_'.

"Ressler!" her squall reached his nerves and he had to act first. They were abducting her that was positive. She was Reddington's precious girl after-all and with such tag on his head, he charmed troubles. A baton was surged towards his head; he leaned sideways—narrowly avoiding the man's attack. Lunging with his movements, Ressler's right arm grabbed a shoulder and with much force he rammed the palm of his hand on the head of the attacker—the man's head met the sharp door of his vehicle.

He saw another bringing his taser to shock him, but with the momentum he shoved the unconscious man towards the path of his assailant. The man met the paralyzing weapon and slumped violently on the path way. And Ressler had his chance; he drew out his gun and shot the two men on their shoulder which was not protected by their vest.

"RESSLER!"

"Fucking hell!"

Ressler sprinted towards the man who was struggling keeping her steady. In her fright, Liz smacked the man's groin—in pain the attacker threw her on the ground and was met with Ressler's knee on the face. The blunt force of his knee resulted in temporary catalepsy, as the man slumped to the ground.

Ressler saw a black van, screeching out of the vision. He shot several shots at it, knowingly at it. The van managed to get away and the SUV which struck their car was nowhere to be found. He turned around to see the men he had shot fleeing away from the scene by foot. By this time, he could hear the wailing of ambulances and police vehicles. He took clean shots at their thighs and they broke down on the floor.

"You okay, Keen? Can you hear me?! How many fingers do I have on me? Liz!" he showed four, which she replied after squinting and contorting her eye lashes along with her brows. "Good. The paramedics are here, so no need to worry. Liz! Stay awake! Goddammit." He slapped her lightly, to see her reaction or response or anything.

"Did... you just… hit me?"

"I had to keep you awake," he spoke between heavy breaths.

"Fuck you."

The paramedics arrived along with the police. He was thankful for whoever informed about the violence. People were already there helping Liz. Ressler's eyes fell upon the howling men who were also surrounded by few brave people and slowly walked towards them. His adrenaline reduced, and he suddenly felt nauseous— feeling the bile reaching his throat he vomited right there. It was blood. A scorching soreness made its presence on his left side, and a splitting throb on his head.

"Sir, you're bleeding!" A male voice he perceived.

'No shit' he thought.

The man balanced Ressler by putting his arm underneath Ressler's left. "What about those four?" he asked managed to ask, gritting. He saw his partner being supported by another one who led her out of his vision. He looked around the damage and the saw the faces of pedestrians who were taking pictures of the scene. Suppressing his violent tendency towards those people, he glanced at the assassins who were being tended to.

"They shall be taken care of, no need to worry sir, now can you breathe?" To which he nodded. "Does it hurt anywhere when you breathe?"

"Ribs, I guess. The head," Despite the pain his vision clearly saw four assailants on stretchers hurriedly taken off by them. The police had arrived and he saw a uniform marching towards them.

"Not now, ma'am, first I need to tend his wounds. You can collect their statements later. It won't take long." The man dragged the trembling Ressler towards the ambulance.

"Where is Keen?"

"You mean your partner? We are on the way, sir."

Ressler ignored the statement and arrived at the emergency vehicle, clutching his left side with his right hand. He sat at the edge, and near him Liz had taken a seat covered in a blanket. She looked alright to him, eyes closed—and her chest moving rhythmically, he sighed in relief. They've been attacked, ambushed—he could've taken the whole damage if it weren't for her reaction.

"Thanks." He mumbled to the medic. Another wave of nausea struck him clean on his gut, but Ressler gulped it back inside, tasting the acidic burn.

"Could you lift your shirt up?"

Ressler hissed through the jeering agony as he lifted his arm to perform the removal. The place near where his ribs had darkened to a bluish shade. "I suggest you visit the hospital ASAP, sir?"

"Ressler,"

"Mr. Ressler, the bruising seems like you might be bleeding internally. It surprises me, you can withhold that pain."

"I get that a lot,"

"Anyone you would like me to call, sir?"

"No but thanks. I can do it on my own, if you could help me with taking out the phone from my inner breast pocket then I'll be glad." As man helped him dug out Ressler's phone, he spoke "And could you please call the officer, I need to speak with her."

The man nodded and got out of their vision. The woman arrived not wasting their precious time. "Are you okay, Agent Ressler?" sincerely nodding he wasted no time explaining the situation from the beginning. Provided and ordered information about the attackers and the vehicle they used. He told her to inform him or his direct superior Cooper about the assailants, as soon as they get better. The woman excused and went away.

Ressler called Cooper and told his whole story as the day before he failed to notify him. Cooper had already sent a team to retrieve them. Their car got towed away, and they sat in silence listening to bustling sounds inside the van, the medics were taking them to the nearest medical center. Liz was awfully quiet the entire time.

"Are you okay?" _She was right, you are stupid. Can't you see?_

"Yes, and you're bleeding from your head, also with a possible fractured ribs. Yet you're asking whether I am okay?" it made his head hurt, he was faintly unnerved by her voice—did his system registered an unknown threat? Her face helped little to nothing for him to study her feelings. He was not profiler, he sighed defeated.

"Yes?" He awkwardly answered, fearing the worst verbal snap she could ever possible yell at him, he cringed inwardly.

"I thought I lost you there for a second," softly she spoke, and in the sense of déjà vu.

He replied light heartedly, "The prospect—"

"I'm serious, Ressler." He expected turbulence in her declaration for some reason, but got none. He remained silent, pondering to give a wise remark—and took way too long to express. Concerned, she touched the part of head where he had the cut which was neatly wrapped. Her warm fingers lingered on the bandaged, brushing the tips of his unkempt blonde hair—the gesture was affectionate? He felt suddenly uneasy beneath her gaze. The same feeling when she confronted him about his addiction.

"So did I." he announced startling her.

...

"How in the world did he beat four people injured?" She was talking to herself, but the man beside her kept observing her very keenly. He was perfectly aware of what she was feeling—perhaps a little confused, frustrated and a certain level of resentment towards the good agent who had ever been his enemy since the beginning. Or that is what the agent believed him to be. Reddington cared not a trifle more about anyone but her. He was informed by Dembe that Agent Keen in an unfortunate event encountered an ambush, and he got straight to business—vengeance, what a ludicrous word to begin with. But punishment, that is what he could convey.

She had not stopped talking about Ressler—even for a moment. And he found it fairly entertaining. He felt relief knowing Ressler had stopped the assault singlehandedly, he was perfectly capable—he was trained to be a killer. Alas, he could've made a perfect goon for the likes him. What is there not to like in him? He was similar to Dembe except a bit short but more temperamental. Now since she was safe and healthy and secured; Ressler did what he had to keep Liz safe, and now it is his turn.

"I believe a man such as our dear agent, is capable of handling situation profoundly Lizzie. You must not need to worry about him, he is alive and breathing soundly, and trust me when I say astoundingly sane. Give Donald my regards will you? I have some business to attend."

"You're going after them, aren't you?" Red smiled, and wore his trademark fedora and dressed his trench coat over his shoulders. Without turning he made his way out of her room.

She was back at her dead beat motel. Red accompanied her throughout her ramblings, listening intently—like he does, listening to her stories like a wise paying attention to a young teller. Not once he interrupted her mulling. His eyes calm like an ocean devoid of any mark of the danger—that lurked beneath. He was calculating—noting the points, the surprise attack was for her, that is what Ressler told him and now he was there to hear her side of story. Lizzie had no idea that the men were trying to abduct her, yet failed—now he had set his eyes on those poor wounded souls, and he could get to the bottom of hell with or without their _assistance,_ that she was aware of.

Who were those men? She was certain that Red was the heart of violence or happenings in her life, and the particular attack was—perhaps a threat to the wise man or maybe to the FBI. Samar was currently interrogating them and she was absolutely convinced that next person to ask questions would be Reddington. Information retrieval guaranteed.

Ressler walked out with few bruises, but one of his ribs was damaged—slightly cracked, and the pressure on his spleen made him vomit blood. She was there when he lost his bile in form of ruby fluid. No concussions fortunately, the cut occurred when his head struck against the car's windowpane. It was the aftereffect of the blunt force which his adrenaline did not let him realize until he fought off those people. He called her earlier to confirm his clumsy concern for her, taking the long way to ask and confess he was worried for her. Ressler had already went home by the time she was explaining Cooper what transpired; as he already summarized the older man his view. Her irritation did not shake off the man's insistence to take her into protective custody until they found out the person behind the attack. That is when Red came into picture and convinced the bigger man that it was his responsibility, as he believed he was liable for the attack. Red assured that he would bring the person to their bureau before the nightfall.

She picked up her phone, and sent him a text asking his whereabouts. Few minutes later, he replied he was at his home. In rush, she took her car keys and went straight to his place.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN:_**_ Fingers crossed._

I hope I did justice to the characters, if not… well, certainly there's always the future. :P


	4. Chapter 4

**_A/N:_** So I'm back with yet another chapter. I've read it quite a few times and finally concluded, this is absolutely ridiculous as it is nothing but randomness. But we'll see, Reddington. At first I was a bit nervous writing him. He's such a powerful and mysterious character that seriously, he cannot be broken or blend into something. I desperately needed something to keep him the way he is, but then I realized he is supposed to be anti-hero. Basically, he is one of those who are good/bad or bad/good? A vigilante or some sort, he can bend the law and can get away. Well, that's how I perceive him. I don't know if I would pass the test writing him, but whatever it may be, I'm just glad I finally uploaded it.

Okay, I haven't actually seen the Super Bowl episode. In my country we don't have Super Bowl, I don't even know what that is, all I know is that it has something to do with football .-. I really wanted to see Hellboy, and his character—Luther Braxton.

I have no idea what went through, so consider this story an AU. But I might mention one or two thing as soon as we have the show on-air.

**_Disclaimer: _**The Blacklist belongs to Mr. Bokenkamp and NBC.

**WARNING: **Contains coarse language, and may contain factual errors, grammatical errors and spelling mistakes.

* * *

><p><em><strong>RESSLER<strong>_

_Chapter 4: Questions_

Ressler sat on his couch sipping mindlessly the cold beer on his hand. A lot had happened since he shot that man, Kerry. Misunderstood that Liz was meeting Red or Tom, he became angry at himself, that he did not check his room whether if she was there. He fucking found her an hour later of his awaiting on his room, then petty arguments on the road till they reached D.C. when he almost lost Liz. The men severely underestimated his abilities, those men. An ex-Green Beret— well he still is, he was lethal, dynamic and fierce in his battles.

He was familiar with retribution, quite obviously—he knew those men would die no sooner as they had the guts to provoke a storm, Raymond Reddington, the storm that would erase them from complete existence. Reddington was exceptional when it came to retrieval of information, often withheld for his self-interest or if he wanted a good laugh at FBI. The man held that intimidating aura without sizing up to express threat, he will just tilt his head to the right and look—which is enough to know to time to keep shut.

But Ressler never felt threatened—mockery, yes, but never a threat. He was much similar to him to some extent despite the older man's knowledge, which he achieved through self indulging travelling throughout the world. Perhaps, Ressler could achieve that too, if he ever went rogue. What was he thinking? FBI is his home, where he could find solace within the anguish. The work is all he had, and nothing to mull over.

_Another day in this carnival of souls  
>another night's sands end as quickly as it goes.<br>The memories are shadows, ink on the page  
>And I can't seem to find my way home.<em>

Oh the dilemma, what the hell was he playing on his music? He certainly had no idea, but somehow he could relate to it. The volume was not noisy; the music seemed nice; he befriended a young man at a gig who suggested trying a band called Five Finger Death Punch—a silly name, but he was blown away by their intensity. Heavy, groovy and powerful yet melodious and some songs were quite serene, which he was currently listening to. Is Reddington aware of his musical preference? Ressler smirked imagining what his reaction would be.

A knock on his door snapped him out of his reverie, groaned—and marched towards the source. It was Liz, well no surprise there as she asked him where he was not an hour ago. Nodding, he side-stepped allowing her to enter and she strolled past him.

"Metal?" Eyebrows raised, she smiled at him. His heart mellowed, it always softened whenever he saw her smile for some reasons unknown. So he ignored the giddy lump forming in his gut, and deciphered her enquiry_. I don't know, but that is not metal_, yet chose to ignore it too.

"You shouldn't be here Liz," He spoke leaning on the wall near him.

"And Hi to you too," crudely proclaiming Liz stood before him, as if to confront about something. He knew that posture very well.

"We've been attacked. Or more like, it was you who was the primary target. I just happened to not lose consciousness."

Eyes narrowed she bored into his skull, trying to decipher the feelings he held deep down. "So you're expecting a card to show my gratitude? Or are you implying I can't win my battles? Or is it you don't trust Reddington to find the person behind it?"

"No. I'm just saying you should be in a protective custody, Liz." Impassive as always his voice remained, he mastered the technique to keep the tone as bland as possible.

"I wanted to see you and I'm an FBI agent mind you."

It was not helping him. She was determined—that he was aware of. The only thing he feared the time, it will bring back the old memories when she first showed up at his home. Emotions that she stirred within was extreme, he had visualized her more often in his dreams since then. He had already demonstrated his protective/possessive nature from time and time again. In the beginning Ressler was perfectly convinced he was only her work partner, yet she became something more—his friend, and steadily she was on her way to become something else—something he dare not to undergo again. Knowing her husband was alive, and his deduction of her still holding some feelings for him repelled Ressler further back to his old self. When he sailed across reached and found his soldier persona, he anchored his ship there—vowing not to reach out for her again; not in the sense his heart sought.

"Liz, I'm serious. What if they happen to come back for you again? I'm worried about you; you were supposed to be in black site. I thought I lost you back there. And, I don't think I could face future without you being there." Shit. _Stupid dipshit! You were not supposed to say that out loud!_ His inner Donald panicked, yet his body did not tense. Ever composed, he asked to appear cool or perhaps to take a detour from the subject to some other, perhaps she could stay here, he had a plethora of guns hidden at every corner in his house, "Beer?"

Either she did not care or she appeared not to take further after his declaration only nodded but noting her faraway look, he conceded at-least he shut her up. Relieved and somewhat perplexed that she did not even respond after he opened his heart to her he felt demoralized. A sigh escaped his lips, and he walked towards the refrigerator to retrieve a beer for her. The background played some guitar riff, fast paced, and extremely precise for the thoughts he was considering—anger, no surprise there.

"Anything they found out about those men?" He asked approaching Liz who had already taken a seat on his couch, fingers messaging an imaginary worry line. Sitting at the far end of the couch, he handed the beer on her.

"No, but, Red said he will find out as soon as possible."

"Of-course he would." He held slight bitterness on his statement, which she picked up—yet she ignored it. "It was you after-all. He could tear down heaven if he needs to, for you."

Ressler still suspected the man. Liz had already told him that Reddington was not her father, if not her daddy then what else? A long lost elder brother? Was he a creepy neighbor who had a thing for her? But it was against his limited verdict, he cannot resolve the thin line of a question which Liz, her husband Keen or whatever his name was and Reddington shared. Whenever he confronted any of them, all the responses were, _you have no idea of what you're getting into. _

_Yeah, only if they showed me what I was getting into. I am not afraid. Maybe they fear me! Ha. _He did not fear death, what is there to be afraid? If there was anyone behind him—someone who cared, who was probably waiting whenever he risked his life then he could worry about the life he was living. He had no one; at-least Liz had Reddington. _You know she doesn't trust you, right? The reason she confessed she had her husband as a prisoner was because she needed someone to save her ass in dire circumstances._

And he fell for it, _I know, _he was unwavering on his decision, that he will stay out of her life—not unless if he is needed.

His phone buzzed, the young man from the gig had sent him a text. Informing him about another band visiting their city next weekend, he was asking whether if he would show up or not. They became friends or whatever; the younger man was in his twenties, nice fellow. Solely because Ressler had missed a lot of evolution of his favorite genre during his tenure as a soldier and agent, and the young man suggested him bands to try out and sometimes sold the CDs or merchandises he possessed. Ressler was rather surprised finding him academically intellectual, as he had a dual degree at Robotics and Electrical Engineering, and so were his friends who were highly qualified all had normal jobs, despite the stereotype surrounding metalheads.

Ressler replied sure, and sat back relaxed—he will get to see Napalm Death next Saturday. He hoped there won't be any work to handle that day.

"Who is it?" Liz spoke after a linger silence between them.

"David, I befriended him at a gig few months ago." She looked at him amazement for some reason.

"You befriended someone? I'm amazed Don, I didn't thought you had it in you."

"Had what?"

"To make friends,"

He shrugged, "Well, aren't you my friend?"

"Yes, but I never thought of you to be the type of guy befriending someone. You are the lone-wolf kind of guy, "Her smile did not left a bit, and he succumbed into it—a smirked appeared on him.

"I did not. He befriended me actually,"

"I knew it."

"Well they did give me a warm welcome with booze when he introduced me to his friends; they call their circle 'Brotherhood'. They visit concerts and gigs in swarm, which includes me if there is no work," She bobbed her head knowingly.

"Are they aware you're a special agent of the FBI?"

"I was drunk." Confessed, and shook his head, he turned flustered. Surprisingly, she laughed or giggled, "And weird thing was, all of them were employed—doctor, attorney, business executives, aspiring musician, photographer—you name it. Regardless of the stereotypes they are normal delightful bunch unless they're on the internet."

"What about women? Are there any in your 'brotherhood'"

"You'll be surprised there are," He took a sip of his beer realizing it was empty.

"I'd like to meet them, everyone." She faced towards the TV which remained blank; dropping her elbows on the arm rest she laid her cheek on her balled fist.

"You'll like them. Just an advice, do not talk about Pop music, they hate it with passion."

"Right—" He nodded and sprawled further into the couch like an exhausted child, his stereo played another music—it was decently slower than most yet picked up speed and horrid within few seconds. Liz did not complain at all since the volume was low.

"I'm confused, Ressler." And he knew what she meant.

'_Scared most likely, Liz'_ he inwardly deduced.

"I don't know Red, I don't know Tom, yet they know an awful lot about me. Where I live, what I eat—hell what shampoo I use. I don't feel safe, Ressler."

_This is depressing._ He reached into his shorts pocket and retrieved a pack of cigarette, flicking one out he dipped the offensive object between his lips. He offered one to her which she accepted impassively, he lit Liz's first then his own and took a long drag filling his lungs full and exhaled through his nose.

"He is not my father, you know…" she exhaled noisily and the smoke followed out, "…DNA confirmed it."

"Congratulation, you found yourself a fan," he grumbled, and repeated the motion of breathing. "To think he was interested in you even before he met you—in his box, is sort of disturbing," She slapped his shoulder fondly, and rhythmically joined his breathing.

"I think they knew each other, Tom and Red. I suspect they are familiar with each other, as both have secrets known only between them,"

"Do they tell you—" he breathed out towards her direction."—secrets?"

"Not really."

"It sucks to be you, Liz." He walked straight towards his speakers shutting it off, and strolled back to his place. "It must be heavy—holding so many mysteries all alone."

"I'm not the only one with secrets Ress," She glanced towards him—blue eyes meeting his. "We all do, even you."

"I tell you mine," He accusatorily spoke.

"You don't."

"I do, but you chose to not get involved in it." He placed both his arms on his thighs leaning forward; he shook of the ashes on the tray before them, followed by Liz. "You found out about my addiction." He further told.

"That was your only secret? I don't think so," Now she was facing him, looking straight into him.

"Those are bound by my duty, Liz."

"Then trust me." Trust was something he was personally familiar with. His Army adventuring years had taught him to rely on his brothers in arms; they had each other's back. Later, he relied greatly on his sources, informants—against Reddington. He knew he was difficult on her initially, he was supposed to be that way. Gradually, she earned his trust proving her fidelity and valor. Yet he felt she did not trust him, like the way he does, or perhaps it was the other way around.

_You never trusted her, dipshit. _ "I do, but do you?" He lied and turned to face her, to observe her—to get a raise from her, nevertheless failed miserably. Her eyes expressed confusion and the rage building behind it; he knew what she was thinking.

"You do?" she leaned back a little and her voice was ice like, "I don't remember— that is… because you never had the intention to speak about your problems, not to me. But it was I who confided in you. You never trusted me, Ress, you still don't…."

He remained silent, "…I found out about your addiction by coincidence, the same coincidence when I realized you smoke when you're stressed." She reached sideways and rubbed stubbornly the cigarette on his ashtray, her gaze held his eyes—and they stared onto their oceanic cerulean pool. "For once Ressler, talk to me, stop being an ignorant prick."

He heavily exhaled, "My problems aren't big enough for both of us, and I can handle it alone." He reached out to her and patted her elbow, "And I do trust you regardless of the popular opinion invoked by Reddington. Believe me when I say, I won't hesitate to ask for help." Using every ounce of acting skills he had conjured, he smiled genuinely and prayed she won't further pry into his life—and will not point his blatant lie.

Thankfully, she smiled—no hint of suspicion, guilt found a place in his heart as he feigned to her despite of her concern—yet smugness appeared on his face, "So now the centre of concern is you. Do you think Reddington will find them?"

"Without a doubt," she smirked playfully.

'I hope so.' He remained quiet.

. . .

"Fear is a great motivator, it makes you brave. Well, you need courage to either back out or face it, don't you think?"

Muffled voice pierced the 55 years old Gustav's ears, as he stood before a shivering wounded man who sat on a folding chair; the blood had already stained his white shirt and his eyes exhibited pure fear. One arm struggling to rip off the cuff which had a vice like grip on his other hand. The decaying dimly lit room smelled of death, fuel and piss.

"I'm giving you a choice here, Robbie. You have a gun on you. You could both shoot me and have your freedom, or you could get rid of those cuffs and die a miserable— death. As you can see, that bullet has one name written on it, but my men have your family." He turned to look back, waving one of his goons. As the struggling man's eyes widened whimpering incoherently.

"Pl… please don't,"

"You failed your mission, did I not tell you retrieve the package alive or not come back at all?" his voice brute as well as his imposing physique, "Yet you came back, now what am I supposed to tell my boss?" He leaned forward resting both his palms on the table before him looking the wounded man with narrowed eyes.

"W… we underestimated the agent sir."

"Like fuck you did!" Gustav slammed his balled fist into the steel table. He released a big exhale to calm his nerves, "Now, your men were unsuccessful first and foremost, then you had the guts to come back and blame your comrades for their incompetence. Yet you had the audacity to drive and come back—tell me Robbie, were you hoping I would let you go? You see, I despise failure very much like my ex-wife. And you left your men alive back there in their hands? Now what would I do when those blue bloods come knocking at my door? I have a reputation to carry, Robbie… So, the mastermind is you, behind the futile abduction attempt, not me. Now you can either decide to let your family being erased from existence, or you could kill yourself and let them live. Somebody has to die. IT won't get unpunished."

"No… no, please sir, let them go."

"Are you afraid, Robbie? Don't be. I will help, but not you. You are beyond my jurisdiction now." and the man cried yes hopelessly, he knew what he had to do. "Fear is a great motivator. So what's it going to be? Dear ones or you? Now they won't have to carry your soiled name of abducting an agent, Robbie or you carrying their corpse and later meet them. And if you shoot me, you will die along with your family with a tarnished bloodline."

"Please, don't do this."

"I have no choice," and Gustav stared. And the place went awfully still as the man stopped squirming and his cry perished, with his shaking hands Robbie picked up the gun as a broken man, he put the barrel on his temple—taking heavy rasp breaths he looked straight into Gustav's maroon eyes.

"Fuck you!" He screamed and pointed his gun at Gustav only to be gunned down with quite a lot of bullets, tearing his flesh from his chest and abdomen. Blankly, Gustav turned back towards his men,

"Вы знаете что делать" his morose voice perforated the silence that came with death.

"сэр!" the man replied as Gustav patted on the one eyed giant's shoulder and walked out of room.

Pity that he had to kill a good man and also the blood of his innocent family will forever remain on his hands; he had already warned Robbie not to come back to their place—stupidity, was an annoyance along with failure. He was bound to his duty, serving a network of high profile criminals has unlimited risk, now, he was a widowed man with children; three and he feared harm might commence upon them, he could connect with the dead man's. He gave the man a choice even though it was not favorable to either the man or his innocent family, and the man chose a dark future—Gustav had no alternative, if he had then there would've been consequences for his own action. He feared the future more than his actions, no matter how violent or cruel his deeds were it was because he was afraid.

His cell phone cried and he retrieved the tiny device, and sighed dejectedly at the screen and answered, "Yes, sir… no, they couldn't get the agent… I apologize… no it won't happen next time, I assure you… their leader is dead and things shall be taken care of… Yes, I understand… okay." Ending the call, he solemnly sauntered out.

…

"What do you mean they are dead?" Ressler loudly proclaimed his annoyance which was audible enough to even their neighbors if there were any. Liz abruptly muted the TV and met his eyes. He was speaking to someone from the medical staff, His familiar scowl and his reddened eyes were already set and Liz assumed he will hold on to that look till he finds out the reason of death. It was 5:36 in the afternoon and they have been watching a movie and talking casually about TV and music the whole day, as Cooper had given them a day off to tend their wounds, they did not question him whether if they looked hurt or not, she was glad. Though not so glad anymore as when they thought they could get to the bottom of this—their source are not even breathing anymore. Hoping Red already got his information; she turned the TV shut and walked towards the Dinner table where Ressler was walking back-and-forth. Grunt parted from his lips, he looked at her still unnerved; she thought he would throw that phone away somewhere.

"Dead?"

"Yes, some overdose—got murdered I'm sure. What the hell is wrong today?" Hands caressing his jaw he sighed into it and slumped down on the table—sitting on it. "Now, I seriously hope that your boyfriend will find them."

She ignored his jab attempt at Reddington on her; hey that's what friends do. "We'll get them."

"And now, they're out there somewhere plotting another attack on you." He still held his phone and knew what he wanted to do, call Cooper and send her somewhere safe, "I need to call…" and she grabbed his hand, "What are you doing?"

"No,"

A hunch could either be good or nothing, she had faith on Reddington—hell everyone does, even Cooper. She wondered always what was about the criminal that made Ressler belligerent towards him. Red always seemed good, despite of her coining him monster, and she was vaguely aware that she wasn't the first to imply so. He cared about her—that she knew, as well as her partner. If Red had no problem in Ressler then what was the reason to hate someone? Or perhaps she was paranoid, yes, she was. She trusted in Red's comfort than the FBI's why not? He saved her from her marriage, liberated her in some way—her philosophical view on life changed, so did she. Despite the mysteries surrounding his interest on her, she really believed him to be good man. Why is so difficult for Ressler to understand it?

"What no?" The tall man scoffed, brushing back his blonde hairs frustrated. "You are not safe alone, Liz, why is it so difficult for you to understand..." Blue eyes narrowed at her, he already got his answer,"…I see…you're relying on him like you always do. He is clouding your judgment Liz."

His accusation stung, not to her, but his distrust on Reddington and fury scorned her, "And, why is it that you don't trust him?"

"I don't trust him because he is a criminal!" He sized up on her; his frame towering over her face.

"I trust him because he is an ally." She said calmly, "You must've forgotten the definition of that."

"Right… right, the great Reddington—a knight in the shining armor. Why am I not surprised?"

"Why? Was it because it isn't you?" she nailed her statement, and he became quiet all of a sudden and closed his eyes, calming his very nerves visibly.

"No, it's because, I don't trust him."

"No shit,"

"You haven't spent 5 years after that guy, Keen. You don't know him like I do, wherever we found his trace there was blood."

"Much like what you did in the army." Her tongue had always been sharp and men found her rather repulsive whenever she spoke, whatever she spewed it was either snarky remarks or euphemism. Hurt, which she saw in him as his face fell and then he picked it up into his trademark scowl as he got near her. Not fearing him she bluntly said, "There's blood on everyone's hand Ressler, even yours' what makes you different than him?"

He turned away, and walked, but she caught his arms; stopping him mid-track, "You don't know him like I do, Ressler. Jesus, how difficult is it for you to believe in him even after the things he had done for the FBI?"

He shrugged her hands and stared blankly, all emotions he displayed after their little day was gone. An ice like mask he wore and suddenly, she could not read him anymore. The Ressler she knew was gone, and the stranger Donald Ressler appeared, he did not speak just stared only for a minute then spoke sharply, "Seriously? You're comparing a Federal Agent to a criminal? The man is only interested in working for us because of you. He doesn't care about the FBI or the people working for it or the body count his blacklists normally achieve. It is you, Keen, it was always you. I don't know him like you do, neither am I interested in knowing, but I know what kind of criminal he is, cases which even the FBI isn't aware of. You've known the monster but I have seen it and the carnage. To think you still trust him, even after he killed your father shows how much he has grown on you and how much grip he has on your mind."

Old wounds—he torn her healed heart onto shreds, and her eyes suddenly felt damp. His words hurt her; and using her last ounce of courage she had, she raised her right hand unconsciously to slap him but only to be caught by him before it touched his cheek. He slowly lowered her hand, and walked out from her line of blurry vision. She needed to get away from here, Ressler be damn. Gliding briskly towards his door, she opened and slammed it shut loudly, making sure he was aware of her mood.

"Fuck him!" she whispered angrily much to herself.

"Son of a bitch! The fuck did you thought and told her all that?" Ressler was taking a piss and fuming to himself; to his jerk face soldier like persona. He did not mean to say all that to her, but his anger overpowered his reasoning— every time. He heard his door slam shut. "Motherf—" he flushed the toilet and ran out of his bathroom towards Liz, a moment later he came back only to wash his hands. Sprinting out of his room he saw her hair swaying on his porch.

"Where do you think you're going?" hearing his voice, she picked up her speed but he was already behind her—suddenly grabbing her arm from back.

"What the hell Ressler, I thought you wanted me to go!" she yelled, luckily there weren't many people to notice—well there weren't any at all, just them. "Get your hands off of me!" which he obliged.

"You're not going anywhere until Cooper sends someone to take you safely to a safe house." He ordered as a superior, not as a partner or friend. Sighing, he took a step back, "Please wait, and let me talk to him." The word _please_ was difficult for him to speak. But spotting a neighbor spying on them was making him nervous—a crying woman means trouble, and he spoke sincerely.

"You owe me an apology" Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Her tone quivered a little, which made him realize he genuinely hurt her sentiments. Despite her strong resolve, he could feel she could break down any minute and she should be taken inside as soon as possible to not attract his elderly neighbor. He knew what he told her was factual—Reddington was manipulating her, like distracting her from herself—or perhaps breaking her will and building it again as something similar to him.

_Fuck_

He was already aware she knew they were being watched, and hopelessly he rubbed the back of his neck—and told her what she needed to hear, "Sorry," impossibly inaudible, like he was telling himself.

"I can't hear you," what a turn of event. _What is wrong with this woman? _He had to do this, his neighbor—an elderly woman who lectured him whenever she got the chance was too much; the woman always reminded him of grandma Ressler. He had no choice but to take her home, and keep guard on—if they were attacked again.

"I'm sorry okay?"

"Better," Now he was aware why her colleagues labeled her 'Sir'. Both of them walked back into his house. No satisfactory smile graced her face, she was still mad.

"You make sure she is safe, Donald. I will send a surveillance team to guard your house and to avoid suspicion they shall be off-duty officially. They will inform you as soon as they get there. And Donald, I believe you're the perfect candidate for keeping her safe. So, keep your eyes open, agent."

"Yes sir," he hung up his phone and slumped into his seat. Liz was taking a break on his bathroom, while he informed Cooper that she was with him. Cooper was one of the few men who he regarded respectful along with his military superior and teammates during his army years. His throaty voice always composed and a level of authority laced tone with his imposing height—yes he sure was superior and he deserved his place. His home was now a safe house for her, as he had to dig open his hidden guns and guard till the sunrise, the time Reddington had ensured information. Green Beret Special agent Donald Ressler wore the mask of death—as he waited for it.

. . .

"Sir, someone named Raymond Reddington would like to speak with you," Gustav arose from his chair, standing full height—he towered over the bald man. Adjusting his suit, he walked out of his room—and his mansion towards a garden where the said man stood. His trademark hat was a symbol of openness, and the smile eccentric. The man of many mysteries—the underworld network was vaguely aware of a man such as him.

"Ah Gustav, it's such a great pleasure meeting you again," Tipping his hat he greeted the tall man. Gustav had met him before— clashed long way back when they were green horns in the business, but like the legend said—Reddington disappeared only to be seen as a stranger, with resources from all over the world. Reddington was a man of knowledge and resources to aid his friends and improvising menace to his enemies.

"Likewise, Reddington…" Gustav held his hand out which the shorter man accepted and shook it gently, "…To what I owe this pleasure to meet you old pal?"

"Oh it is not business for which I wanted to meet you, but more of a personal request." His tone unwavering, "I've been informed you've gone quite wayward on your ways to achieve your interests."

"Would you like to talk inside?" Gustav felt a presence behind the short man and noticed a tall black man eyeing him warily, he knew who Dembe was, the infamous fiercely loyal bodyguard of the infamous criminal Reddington; his stature only represented the nature, silent, powerful and knowledgeable. "—or perhaps not."

"You know in our line of profession it is necessary to keep talks undisclosed, unfortunately my friend I heard, and you are going through a rough patch. And I have the resources to provide you my assistance."

"Is it… And may I know the name of the bird?" Gustav shoved his both hands inside his pockets, and stared blankly at the ever composed criminal, "Your concern is greatly appreciated old pal, but I am fully aware of another rule in the journey, and we both know it. What does the great Raymond Reddington want from me? And as far as resources are concerned I have my own, why must I need yours'?"

Tilting his head, Reddington looked up at the taller man—lips making chewing motion, trying to assess Gustav in his stare, "My grandfather often told me stories about a friend of his, Carlton Lebowski—a wonderful man with a temper that could rival a raging bull in corrida de toros. I vaguely remember the particular story, one fateful night he was whispered by some moonstruck about his ranch to be torched. Enraged he stalked up the moonless night, silently awaiting the ruffians to attend, as he saw them—in blind ire and his drunken stupor he bludgeoned three children who were hunting rats. The next day, he committed suicide in grief as those kids where his sons. It was a heartbreaking to know a father's grief could turn a man into something else—"

Gustav silently stared still holding his head up, slightly unnerved. Very few were aware of his sons and Reddington's story—he wondered if it was true or false regardless it was implication maybe a threat? "—a father no matter what could attain anything for their children, even if he kills them somehow. Carlton Labowski's last wish was to meet his children."

_That doesn't make any sense._

"What do you wish, Gustav?"

"I wish you to be gone," Reddington laughed to his heart content, then the eerie gaze of his warily studied Gustav, "You must be informed well of the attacks that occurred don't you? And I assure you it has nothing to do with me, I was assigned solely to the cause of abducting the agent securely and alive. But it surprises me, that wellbeing of an agent could make even the great Reddington wary of his old pal."

The stare-off continued, none backing out, "I need the name of your employer, Gustav."

"I'm not at liberty to speak about him, Raymond. You know my rules."

"You and I both know that I could find him, but the reason of my meeting with you, is to disentangle you from the guillotine above your neck, old pal."

"I'm touched, really, your concern for an old buddy is compelling, but I assure you Raymond I am perfectly capable at handling petty problems such like this. Now, if you really want to help me, then help me out giving the agent. The FBI agent—what was his name again…" as he kept pondering. Reddington glanced back at Dembe who nodded his head, approving he heard him correctly, his name, the male agent, not female—Not Elizabeth, and if it wasn't Lizzie that was the target then it was, "…Ah Donald Ressler."

This was an interesting turn of event.

A smile appeared on Reddington's face, practically beaming at Gustav's reveal. Donald Ressler was the last person to have enemies. Gustav was well known in the syndicate for plotting against his employers enemies, often told to get rid of them but the intention of having them alive was rather—charming. Reddington wanted to meet Gustav, to warn him, to not even lay a finger on Lizzie. Yet he got surprise of his life, not entirely—the self-proclaimed enemy of Reddington was an avenging virgin, a person wanting retribution from him was the last thing he imagined. Mako Tanida was slightly different case, as the men hunted by him were all taskforce associates. Discovering the fact that Ressler might have an enemy was entertaining. He could vividly imagine the hilarity observing the good man and his paranoia. Perhaps, Reddington needed a little entertainment,

"Surely I can assist you, my friend," smiling, "But, tell me the name of your employer Gustav, or else the deal cannot transpire between the two of us."

"I can sense you know about him, do you Reddington?" Gustav enquired, "I don't usually care if my employer asks me to cause trouble for someone… you know. But killing an agent is what unsettled me, if you really do know who I might be hunting, then I don't see any problem telling you. But, first, you speak—who is he?"

"No I need you to answer another question of mine, Gustav." Which he gave approval to, "The ambush you orchestrated. There was another agent with him. What possibly was your contingency plan for her?" Reddington needed to know.

"Those men were instructed to abduct without fatal causality, only exception of male agent. The plan was to block them and not to strike the vehicle. We were not up for a collateral damage. My employer wanted him alive." Gustav took a step back, and held his hand to right—directing Reddington towards his mansion, "Now I am clearly interested in his interest. You see, killing a fed means a lot of work, and I need prior precautionary means to stay out of trouble... I don't want those secret agencies tailing my ass."

"I can offer you the precautionary means only if you're willing to tell me the name." Reddington still stood his ground unwavering, "So what is it going to be, Gustav?" To which the tall man smirked knowingly his maroon eyes reflected with the light.

"Zhou"

_Saturday_

_6:43 A.M._

Ressler did not sleep the whole night—wary of another ambush that might occur if he very much narrows his eyes. Obscurely he saw five or six people rounding his corner every hour, he learnt they were appointed by Cooper. Perhaps they were not skilled enough to guard, so still paranoid; he kept watch while Liz had taken a nap—or slept dead cold on his bed precisely. He told Liz to stay put in his house till sunrise, and without speaking a word—she went directly to his bedroom and slammed his door shut. "Are you trying to break my doors woman?" He called out but got no response.

Ressler honestly did believe that Reddington would call her first and foremost if he got information. Rigorously exercising his brain to function before any dire situation was exposed, he played multiple scenarios to tackle any assault the whole night—imagining saving her. It felt like he was a teenager again, believing himself saving damsels in distress, not that he considered Liz a damsel; she could surely fight and hold her own ground—which he found strangely appealing. No shame admitting he liked his women strong, capable and ferocious yet tender, confident and kind—well, if situation was called for, Elizabeth had all characteristics he deemed attractive, well no denying he was attracted to her. Who wouldn't? She spent quite a lot of time with him, the stake outs, undercover operations, late night at office and few times she was at his home to watch action movies all night.

"You've gotten awfully soft, Donald," He spoke out loud, remembered clearly, his drill sergeant.

"What?" He tensed listening to her voice, the grip on his gun tightened then relaxed. Liz was near the couch where he sat, radiating warmness, no hint of anger was there. Choosing his words carefully he spoke,

"Reflecting" he spoke drily, her eyes brows raised she just looked.

"Didn't sleep?" she seemed refreshed assuming it was his presence in another room made her less paranoid felt good. He was aware of her paranoia often wondered if she even slept when she was alone.

"No, I had an order to keep you safe till sunrise, and it is done. Did he call you?" _Shit._ He was blunt and her frown made him nervous, yet visibly he remained perfectly sane and calm—his penchant for remaining professional was overcoming his need to be her friend was overwhelming. The charade he kept was after he found out about Tom being alive, and day after day he grew distance from her, whether she was aware of the distance or not he was less concerned.

"So I am a liability now? A job," _Not another fight,_ he groaned inwardly and shook his head in disagreement,

"I was just concerned they might attack while we both keep our eyes shut."

Buying his concern as legit, she conceded about Reddington "No, he didn't."

"Let's get ready; we have to leave for Post Office maybe Aram could track something about the vehicle. I've had enough bullshit from Uncle Red. We could drop by at your motel." Seeing her nod, he handed her the gun and went straight to his bathroom to get fresh. Sleep was no problem for him.

Within half-an hour he was ready with his trademark features and scowl, as both of them exited their house—they were greeted by blood on the door or perhaps red paint, written "Beware", Liz face expressed worry, she looked up at Ressler's face to read him but it remained blank, but the inner turmoil made him clench his jaws tight, and his eyes showed warning.

_Whoever you are, I'll be coming for you pal. _And the air around them darkened.

He kept staring at his door and the red painted letters photographing it to his memory, and heard Liz's voice, "Dembe, where is he?" Suddenly he sprang to action and sprinted out his porch only to see the whole surveillance team laid unconscious dropping to one knee, he slapped one of them awake.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN:_** That's it. _Fingers crossed._

So, how's it? Good? Bad? I suck? Perhaps I do, this particular chapter is not that interesting I know. I don't know what I'm doing since I already have the document ready I'm just cutting it to pieces so as to upload it. This probably doesn't make any sense. But, things may get interesting on the next chapter I will surely clarify things in the upcoming chapters.

I used Google Translator and I'm not ashamed of it.:D :P


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: **_I'm back with a new pen name along with a new chapter, although I've read this chapter few times to check for something ridiculous, and I found so much more. But, I was anxious to update and so I did. :P

And so, I read the synopsis of the new episode and wasn't surprised to see Ressler getting beaten and tortured. Lol

**_Disclaimer: _**The Blacklist belongs to Mr. Bokenkamp and NBC.

**Warning: **Contains coarse language, and may contain factual, grammatical and spelling errors (even though, I have re-read it quite a few times, I'm still paranoid)

* * *

><p><span><em><strong>RESSLER<strong>_

_Chapter 5: __Crook_

_9:47 A.M._

"Red said he found the culprit, and he would arrive shortly to share his findings." Liz spoke, as she was slightly unnerved by the events that transpired. Thankful that she was with Ressler the night, thankful that he was awake the whole night to prevent a break in—but whoever painted his door had no intention to attack, shuddering at the thought of her stay in the deadbeat motel alone. Ressler was back to his robot façade, dreadfully quiet the whole time. Pensively staring at the floor beneath; she could draw a pattern on his forehead underlining the worry lines on his scowl. She still awaited Red to call her, to say something which he did not. Now all of them were waiting for Batman.

"Ah there you are, what a wonderful morning I must say, hello Agent Keen." The said man, Reddington glided towards them wearing his smile and appreciating her presence—she followed his eyes which greeted Ressler; odd as he never regarded Ressler's presence.

"Reddington, I believe you have what agent Keen has called us for," Cooper's voice broke Ressler from his reverie and he eyed Reddington warily.

"What's the hurry Harold? Clearly, you can express concern for your asset, you see I visited an old friend of mine in New York and had to come here when I was told our good agent Ressler's home was attacked," his voice was ever playful with hint of mockery, a clear jab at Ressler which he ignored, like he had been doing this for few months.

"Is it? Would you like to have a glass of lemonade our fellow agent Aram had gracefully made one just for you," Aram jolted his head towards Cooper. Liz successfully withheld laughter which poked her throat; her vision settled on Ressler again, only to see his blank teal blue eyes on Reddington. "What do you have for us, Reddington."

"Not much, just a name—Ansgar Gustav, he and I go back when we used to be green horns. Lovely man for a criminal who could play dirty for if he feels like… "To which Ressler's arose an eyebrow, she was perfectly aware of his rebuke, _Aren't you a criminal, well?_"…Usually, he stays away from spotlight in the syndicate only to be found by employers who wants his assistance in subjects regarding abduction or performing an execution—he is well known by the name of The Executor, very mediocre yet potently facinorous. To reveal his work, those men who died in that God forsaken hospital are his cause. The man had conspired and orchestrated many execution hence the name. Did I mention he worked for the Swedish Intelligence and is on large after selling their fancy intelligence?"

Lizzie interposed which Reddington did not mind. "How many and how did he killed those four?" His eyes met hers, smiling,

"As many as it can be agent Keen. Apparently, no, the man is resourceful as he can be—he never kills but his men do. He recruits selectively few ex-service men who are discharged of their duties due to grave injuries or being a disgrace; young and full of rage and dangerously skillful, under normal circumstances most of them are outsiders. He is an excellent manipulator, and the poor governance in their respective countries—those men hopelessly yet fiercely follow him like shadows they do his dirty works and are able to remain in darkness and maintain the secrecy around Gustav."

"He was employed to hunt us?"

"…Not necessarily, he is driven by his interests mostly—and my men told me he is knee deep in trouble for past few months; when bankruptcy hits a man, he often turns to darkness which Gustav has been playing with. He is desperate to build his deteriorating repo over the syndicate as a retriever and the assault that partook, it was his all his interest."

"What does he want with agent Keen?" It was Cooper, but Reddington moved towards Ressler instead.

"Oh it is not agent Keen who he was after…" Every eye on the floor fell upon Ressler who looked agape, but only for a moment as he wore his mask of indifference in haste. Reddington paused and just looked at the man who stood near Cooper. Red completed, "…It is agent Ressler who is the person of interest here."

"And why is agent Ressler is his interest?" Samar asked.

"I believe agent Ressler can speak now" Mischief written all over Reddington's appearance. Cooper eyes narrowed and stared at the man near him who looked just as confused as Keen and everyone.

"I'm just as confused as everyone else right now, why am I on his radar?" Ressler broke in after a moment of silence. "We need to bring him in, before I get killed—or something." Neutral after Reddington's reveal, Lizzie again tried profiling him, it was not nervous, or held a tiny bit of anxiety; his calm demeanor frightened her and not knowing what he was thinking troubled her.

"I suppose you are aware of his location Reddington?" Cooper asked, he was worried and it was evident on his face.

"Yes."

"Pray tell us without further ado." His anxiousness was visible as his grip on his cane tightened much similar to the jaw.

"Brainerd, Minnesota."

"Wait, what does he want with Ressler?" Liz voiced her concern.

"To kill him," Reddington coolly approached Ressler again; tilting his head a little he stared at the slightly tall agent questioningly.

"Aram, report the FBI field office of Minnesota of our arrival and get the Swedish intelligence data about the criminal, we will get this man into custody. And Ressler it is my strict order for you to stay put and l won't tolerate any lapses if you are involved in any situation until Gustav is apprehended, am I clear?" Cooper barked his order to which Ressler nodded, Cooper strolled towards his office limping. Aram and Samar hurriedly went to their respective places and spoke quietly occasionally looking towards the three. Lizzie feared the Ressler when Mako Tanida shattered his whole world, killing Audrey and sending Ressler into rogue mode. A vengeful Ressler was far dangerous than the agent Ressler, the uncaring and predatory man—she could clearly picture him distressed with blood sworn vengeance, but that was then, now he looked empty. She might not forget the rage he bared, but the justice he remembered she forever imprinted it on her memory.

"What are you going to do now, Donald?" Red enquired intrigued by this new Ressler who returned his gaze questioningly.

"Follow orders and stay put. Or don't follow orders and lose the job." He deadpanned.

"Splendid, now if you may excuse me, I'd like to have few words with Harold." Lizzie noticed the thoughtful face of Reddington as he walked towards Cooper's office; it almost seemed worried for some reason. She was terribly bothered about Ressler's well being now, leaving him alone would bring harm upon him. Not that she believed him to be unstable—he wasn't, his silence spoke a thousand words but opinionated none. His gaze tumbled over her,

"You must be going with them," either it was uncertainty on his voice or sincerity she could not absorb, her vision unusually softened which he found offensive, and he wore his humorless mask, which made her exhale a heavy breath dejectedly.

"I… don't know." His cellphone rang which he answered abruptly as he went past her towards the office which they shared, while she stood there looking up at Cooper's office awaiting Reddington; hoping she may perhaps stay put with her partner—to look after his mental well being despite knowing he most certainly will admonish her for it.

_"Then you better knock some sense unto him."_ She decided that Ressler needs to be pushed in order for him to move. She glanced back at their shared office, to see his silhouette silently brooding with a pensive stare towards the wall before him while holding his phone against his ear, a surge to talk with him was overwhelming but before.

"Aram I was hoping you could do some digging for me—unofficially." To which he earnestly snapped out of his monitor and stared flummoxed. Samar was out for a coffee, which he informed the field office and was searching any criminal activities related to Gustav or his associates. The only thing he found was petty criminal charges but those were more of a decade before, since the man was astonishingly concealed—he was arrested for selling intelligence to other nations, then he became a ghost not to be found again. Aram was sharply intelligent at catching clues or hints and come up with insane assumption often right on spot, pity that he had to remain at one place and not a field agent such as her or her partner Ressler. She was awfully confident on his abilities; he could surely bring up something to press charges against the man after Ressler. Now, all she needed was little information about Ressler's past.

"Sure thing, what do you want me to do?"

"It's about Ressler; can you dig up information about him? I mean his reports or résumé before he joined the FBI."

"You don't know?" Eyes wide surprised, he leaned back on his chair to look take a look at Ressler's location.

"Know what?"

"Promise me you will keep this a secret. I mean it is deemed confidential by Cooper himself. I'm surprised agent Ressler hadn't told you even though you two look great as partners." She nodded at promise part while ignoring others, "when I first joined the task force I had to know about people beforehand, so I dug up stuffs about everyone working here." His voice became low as if he was whispering, "Agent Ressler used to be a Special Op, before he joined the taskforce. He was directly selected by Cooper in deputation basis; since he had prior experience leading a team it was easier for him to handle the task. Can you believe it? Donald Ressler, a green beret!"

Okay—that was boring for a past, she decided. Perhaps, Gustav and Ressler had crossed path before the task force against Reddington was even created, "Cross check the information on Ressler and his missions with Gustav we might find something against it."

"I already did, there was nothing on Gustav relating to agent Ressler."

If Gustav and Ressler have not met then possibly he was hired for a job, but who could possibly hire him to finish Ressler? The only person with a vendetta against Ressler was Mako Tanida, who was taken care of by Ressler's own sworn vengeance. Reddington knows more than he revealed; deciding she needed to speak with him, her gaze once again found Cooper's office and saw Reddington looking down at her or towards their office.

. . . .

"I assure you Harold; I have all you need to detain Gustav, I'm not a monster regardless of the universal consideration, my concern for agent Ressler is genuine. As soon as you have the man, I'll provide you the evidences of all the illicit endeavor of his after he went AWOL from being arrested for selling military intelligence." Hiding a smile Reddington' eyes found Lizzie's worried face. He had rolled his dice towards a future for Donald Ressler—nonetheless it was up to him to break an illusion. Reddington always wanted to see a different side of Ressler, seemingly intrigued by the wayward path he took after Audrey died; now he was curious to know what the good man would do when there is no Audrey to avenge. There were moments where the agent's stubborn nature was a nuisance to him, though the man impressed him with his failed attempt to assassinate at Brussels, a minute not earlier then the story of Reddington would've ended.

Did he underestimate Ressler? Positively not, after his attempt to kill, Reddington respected the bravado, the fearlessness he was gorged with. So, agent Donald Ressler got the criminal's attention, which is why he dug up about the FBI's Golden boy—predictably he was an army man, no surprise there as the man was pleasantly disciplined enough to patiently stalk him unnoticed for ages and gallant enough to confront a fierce storm like him, yet he lacked the experience and knowledge regarding the global syndicate of crime even some part of normalcy of life; he might be war experienced but the world of corruption was diverse. Reddington was not a delinquent but a cold blooded criminal, and the agent either severely underestimated him or was not aware of his legendary status.

Donald Ressler was a fascinating character in his own unpretentious world, so different from Lizzie—polar opposites, the only feelings they shared were skepticism and perhaps a bit of rage or he might be wrong—they may be similar.

There was mystery which surrounded the good agent, how did he manage to track him for so many years?

"I'm surprised the way you are lending us your support Reddington. So, may I be perfectly clear and ask, what are you supposed to achieve through all this?" Cooper's hazy voice penetrated the silence.

"Nothing, I'm just curious to know how agent Ressler managed to make enemies while staying by the book." He turned his sharp calculating gaze on Cooper calm and serene, "So, I believe you are eager to catch the man?"

Reddington was aware the closeness, the bond both of them shared. She might deny but the secret glances she stole from the man were absurdly observable. Oh she was supposed to be special which she evidently was, but not the man, agent Ressler—and Reddington despite the denial had his reason to get rid of him; Donald is not intended to be the one for Lizzie. She had been confiding in Ressler, and Reddington did not find it amusing, they needed to be separated. Ressler either needed to prove his resilience again, more maturely or die miserably, and if he somehow miraculously survives, then Reddington would approve him for his Lizzie. "I'm just curious to know what Donald is capable of"

. . . .

Ressler was alone in their office, and somehow managed to taut his muscles in alarm after hearing the news. Deliberately he drowned in the whirlpool of memories for a hint which seems unlikely. No glimpse of a man named Gustav in his brain, he was positive that he had never crossed the man. Perhaps, if the FBI manages to cuff him, then surely Ressler can ask him some questions. Was he afraid? Ressler feared that he did not possessed fright, not when there is no one to look after him. Was he worried? No. Which is why, he remained calm after the big reveal.

While he kept wandering about his favorite genre out of blue the door creaked open, Aram entered it looking apologetic. His timid and playful nature reminded Ressler of a kid he used to bully in elementary. Ressler sat up straight nurturing his slouch posture to look intimidating in a good way; he was supposed to be a senior field agent after all. "Aram," Ressler allowed him to enter.

"Agent Ressler, I was wondering if I could ask you few questions." Fidgeting the man stood, slightly uncomfortable.

An eyebrow shot up surprised by the backbone the computer jock had grown, "You are going to interrogate me?" he edgily asked, clearly show boating his well known anger in the workplace.

"No, oh no—oh God no… I was just…"

"Sit down, Aram." The man hurriedly obeyed. Pitying his uneasiness, Ressler faked a genuine smile and laughed throatily, "…ask."

Still nervous, Donald could clearly see the sweat forming on the man's forehead. Aram breathed heavily to ask, "Did you ever conducted operations anywhere in Europe?"

If Ressler ever wondered who knew about his Green Beret days then that would be Aram excluding Cooper, he certainly hoped the man had kept the confidential information regarding it and not exposed it to Liz. If Aram already shared then it will spread like fire to Reddington, understanding the criminal—this little secret of his will not remain a secret. The NSA analyst had the tendency to poke his nose everywhere.

"If I had then you must be possibly aware of it, Aram. Are you here to confirm? To discern if I had trouble in any of my operations, if so, then no." Arms resting on the table before him, Ressler leaned forward—a threatening glare, he spoke, "and if you're wondering whether I'm lying then you better change your opinion, Mojtabai."

Ressler never used the surname due to the man being friendly and cautious but as he had been crossing a line he needed to be put down. Aram sat silently, curious to know more. Ressler stood up grabbing his coat slowly walked towards the door, "I know I'm under scrutiny here, but I assure you—and Liz, as I have a hunch you told her about my occupation prior to joining the FBI, You shouldn't have done that, but I'm gonna let it slide. But remember this carefully, Aram, do not—speak about the missions unless it is Cooper who wants to break it, am I clear? If Keen insists then think of excuses or tell her none of them were interesting."

Ressler patted the man's shoulder and walked out of the office, glancing back he saw Aram resting his hands on his palms. Concluding the analyst already had revealed Keen, he needed to think of facts to lie to her. Did he wish Liz—to share his little secret? Perhaps somewhere near future, now when all and everything is clusterfucked, it needed to remain a mystery. There was this little voice inside his head goading him, nabbing him—the life he lives is uninteresting than what Liz is going through. Mayhap he should tell her, she could use a wonderful truth once in a while. But it can wait till is everything sorted in Liz's life.

More than meets the eye. Suspicion, the gut feeling stirred wildly, through his little experience and run-ins with the criminal Reddington, he was perfectly familiar with the genius man. Presently, whatever that was transpiring around him, his natural paranoid instinct hinted him the obvious pick. Raymond Reddington must've plotted something to do with him.

All Work and no play, makes Don a dull boy. It was like a fucking restraint order given by Cooper. He was anxious to know the story, to know who his enemy was, to get his hands around the man's throat and snap it.

_Stay put my ass._ He needed to get out here.

_11:27 A.M._

Cooper took Mossad's Samar along with him since Keen insisted to stay with him, denying Ressler's order— as it was reprehended by his direct superior in charge. She was allowed, but somehow he managed to find his way back home without her following him and being a mother hen. Reddington rescued him from her wrath, by simply distracting her with his extravagant endearing stories, he was certainly thankful as he had no intention to have another verbal spat with the woman as they had been doing these days. Putting his cellphone in airplane mode, he drove towards his home. And a team solely assigned to protect him from further surprise attack tailed him—if anyone tried to contact him then probably they would call the team second. Ignoring the suburban he safely drove.

Getting out of his car, he casually walked towards the suburban to command the men to stay put while he went to retrieve his belongings. Cooper made sure he needed to be sent into a safe house till Gustav is taken care of. Ressler sullenly accepted the order and got his permission to get his belongings, which were guns.

As he reached his home, his nerves wrecked making him wary, cautious. And a faint melody of music came out of his concrete barricade. Unconsciously, his hands found its way to the gun holster, and debated whether he should barge in or call those guys for back up. Leaning forward and placing his good ear at the door he heard loud music. The volume was high, and the music made his heart crump—the bass and bullet pace drumming riffled his soul. With a loud exhale he entered gun drawn at an unidentified occupant and he was not alone.

The man sat on his couch, staring at with one eye—blue, much similar to him. The eye patch the man worn covered the right and with his good eye he studied Ressler.

"Fleshgod Apocalypse, you've got quite a collection of music agent Ressler," he spoke in a Russian overtone accent, heavy was his voice much like his physical appearance—intimidating. A death metal song played shaking his very heart, yet Ressler remained calm. The man approached and stood his full height, half-a foot taller than the agent.

"Stay the fuck back, pal." Growled Ressler aiming the gun at the man's chest, one move and he would shoot straight into the man's heart. Unexpectedly he was tackled by another man who was near him; the gun was knocked out of his grip, realizing the surprise—Ressler sprawled outwards; spreading his legs apart, he managed to find his footing against wall. Luckily he found the perfect weak spot to shake of the man's attempt to slam him to the concrete wall; Ressler hooked his left arm underneath the man's right and forcibly turned upward and parrying beneath him, he turned and rammed the attacker's head on the wall. Wasting no time he jumped towards the gun, only to see it wasn't there. The tall one-eyed man already had it, and another man had his gun drawn at him.

Not realizing the man he hit clearly was tougher than he seemed, a colossal fist connected unto Ressler's jaw, as he stumbled few feet sideways, and dropped to the floor, grunting when the impact occurred. , "это Достаточно, Джонатан!" the tall man roared in his native tongue.

And everything went quiet to his ear—the music he perceived seemed mute, 'Fuck! That is one punch.' Surely, he must've struck a bloodied lip; Ressler shook his head to shrug off the dizziness that hit him like a ten ton brick. Supporting an arm to the floor he got back to his feet—balancing like a drunkard, finally he could see clearly. His hand reached to feel the blood on his face which was not there.

"I apologize on behalf of my comrade, agent. We are here to talk, not to create disturbance." He glared at the man who struck Ressler, then gestured him to stand back.

"Speak," Ressler spoke as he managed to catch his rampaging nerves and breather. Flexing his jaws momentarily he looked over his shoulder he warily fixed his eyes on the attacker, who smirked at him derisorily. '_It's not over yet.'_ And Ressler distinctly got the message from him.

"We are just messengers to deliver you a proposition."

"Proposition," repeated Ressler and questions swirled around his simple mind. And the man motioned him to take a seat at his own house. Wondering whether if his 'bodyguards' were aware about this situation or not, he considered alerting them by shooting or anything but chose not to. The men had no intention whatsoever to kill him that was for certain. Swallowing his pride and the urge to beat the man senseless who punched him into unconsciousness, he walked towards an arm chair and sat—muscles taut and alert to jump into action if necessary, he sat straight. The tall man took his place across of him at another chair.

"My name is Nikolai Alekseev;" Seeing Ressler nod he talked, "Your life is in danger, that you might be aware of, but we are not your enemy, agent if you were wondering."

"Then who is?"

Alekseev slacked into the biggie arm chair, propping his elbow at the rest and balled his fist on his cheek, "That is when proposition comes to term, agent. We are willing to provide you help to find out the man named Zhou, your real enemy."

"So, what's in it for you?" Ressler leaned back into the chair, arms resting on his thighs.

"Your support"

"Sorry?"

"Assistance, you provide Mr. Gustav immunity anyhow or a way to escape American soil, certainly a man of your caliber must be useful to some extent."

Ressler silently studied the taller man who posed thoughtfulness. He was just a simple Special Agent Donald Ressler, nothing fancy he wore to work to attract attention, always by the book to have enemies tailing his ass.

"I'm just a simple federal employee, and clearly, your boss is quite resourceful enough to track me to abduct, then why does he need my assistance?" Nothing made sense to him.

"You have tracked a ghost for five years, which is enough for us to know about your capabilities, Mr. Ressler. And as we are aware that the FBI would soon be on Mr. Gustav after the attack it is for certain that you have your own sources both officially and not to help. One can assume you can provide immunity for a price… so, Mr. Ressler, name your price?"

Ressler grimaced, a price? What is he a procurer for sources? But this Zhou does not ring any bells in his simple brain, nothing familiar—he held a handful of operations in his palm—mostly successful, and one inadvertent failure. A ghost, yes, Reddington—surely, he was not aware of the man's existence as a ghost, it was somewhat puzzling to him—true, the man was not easy to be found, but the pattern Ressler followed to track the ghost was too sparse but his instinct found Reddington at Brussels and Belgium and many more places. He spent more than a year acknowledging the existence of the criminal's victims since the murdered vanished and sometimes tracks and understanding the motives took few months and the awareness of the pattern took another year but Ressler managed to find and track him till he was ordered an assassination. The order came from above, not from Cooper who was not even aware of the attempt. The deal was confidential.

So, Reddington told the FBI that Gustav is Ressler's enemy, while here in his house Gustav's men are telling him that Gustav is not, who should he believe? As far he could see, Zhou must be Asian, and he wondered if his covert operation on China was notorious enough to bring him enemies. One of the two is lying. He had every reason to believe Reddington was not, since he worked as an asset for the Feds. Whatever beef they held in the past—which Ressler believed was settled for the time being.

"You might take another road Mr. Ressler, you can contact your FBI friends but you will not find Zhou if you are considering. We are directly in contact with him, in-fact he knows we are currently with you."

"Should I be worried?" Swallowing the anxious nerve inside, Ressler put his mask of indifference and observed the other two men in the room.

"No, like I said, we are not your enemy. Fortunately for you, he is not aware of this discussion."

"Why should I believe you?" Easing himself, Ressler leaned back into his chair and gave a pointed look at the man who punched him, "When that guy is glaring at me like I fucked his wife?" and it earned him a frustrated grunt as the man jumped at him. Tensing his muscles, Ressler grinned and got back to his feet to spar. He was greatly surprised when the man— Alekseev blocked him with a frightening speed, not a moment prior the giant was relaxed and within a second he was back on his and grabbing hold of the attacker's collar.

"держаться сзади!" the one-eyed giant growled in a guttural threat, he spoke few more verbal abuses that was for certain. They conversed among them in their native tongue for few moments. The small man distanced himself from the taller man gritting his teeth and breathing heavily either from fear or anger Ressler did not know, but inwardly he was satisfied that he got a rise from the smaller bald man who attacked him.

Alekseev cleared his throat and turned towards Ressler, and his one blue eye was impassive much similar to him. "My apology again, Mr. Ressler, Czechs mostly do not understand or accept American humor." _That ain't humor._

"Aren't you speaking Russian?"

"You understand Russian?" He raised an eyebrow questioningly to which Ressler nodded, "Well, I am, but they are not. He is Czech and the other one is Slovenian." Hearing this, the other man, who Ressler had not acknowledged shook his head approving. Ressler was taught to be multilingual he could easily point the tall man spoke Russian and the other bald man did not. Linguist, a trait shared by Elite soldiers like him, it helped the men to infiltrate the enemy territory; as a bug—a leech, to feed on the flesh from within—like parasites but good, in the sense for America and for the enemy they were worse. Now, he was positive that he had lost his touch on the languages, as he found it difficult to understand many words.

"Anyway, so what is your answer, Mr. Ressler?" Alekseev enquired.

"You didn't answer mine. Why should I believe you?"

"I told you my name, as a token of gratitude; I trust you keep this conversation a secret as much as possible. After-all we're both similar in military terms Mr. Ressler," Both were similar, a Russian soldier—Ressler could feel the aura, the strength and vigor the tall man held, it was overwhelming, hopefully Ressler's own valor could match the man, that is what he wanted. He won't like being intimidated by a Russian, no way! "I am fiercely loyal to my comrades, and I speak nothing but the truth."

Ressler remained silent letting the one eyed man talk "Mr. Gustav has his own policy, a set of rules he created for his own good. First and foremost he avoids projects involving military personnel, when he found out you have background, he aborted this mission."

A pregnant pause struck the room, Ressler responded, "I still don't understand why you want to help me, even though I'm a nobody, just a mediocre FBI field agent who is stuck finding a 'ghost', a credential only involves my tenure as an army man otherwise I'm nothing." He decided to not let slip the fact that Reddington was free, independent— as a bird despite surrounded by the Feds. Ressler's enemy was free, and that reasoning buried him, the hatred that he still couldn't reach the man even though he was at arm's reach fed his anger. These days his lonely thoughts made him feel worthless— an invaluable asset, mostly wondering what he was doing in the task force after Reddington surrendered. Cooper has Reddington who talked to Keen and who talked to Cooper, Navabi was Mossad's daughter and Aram occasionally spoke sense in his techno tongue, while he, he just fucking stayed. A burden that is what he is to the taskforce now, just muscling his way to kill or arrest a blacklist—an absolute waste. His talents, his only credential laid to waste.

_Dear God, I'm fucking worthless._

His half reveries were broken by the Russian's deep voice, "Then join us…" He let his hands motioned forward, open palm awaiting a handshake, to seal a deal, "…let us help you achieve your sole purpose, we will help you capture the _ghost_. Your existence is valuable Mr. Ressler. And if your duty does not allow getting your hands on your intentions, then most certainly we can provide you our assistance in everything you desire…"

Quietly assessing where the man getting at, Ressler remained still, "I believe you do not necessitate money, but your goal is above all else—an obsession, perhaps retribution?"

"How are you gonna provide intelligence on the _ghost? _How do you work?_"_ Ressler asked to which the tall man smirked.

"That is the business we usually conduct Mr. Ressler, a business which is still in infancy. We have a handful of agents from various special agencies scattered around the globe, but only in selective few nations. We are all over Europe and recently, we begun covering Asia but in America we are new with no connections; our little organization does not contain American personnel. Each of my comrades either belonged to a secret service office or still work for them for our sole purpose, a purpose only to serve our own country—to free our nations from the grasps of snakes, the _ghosts, _and criminals for whom our earnest comrades work inadvertently for and sacrificing their lives for their corporate greed. We attempt and achieve complete removal of their vile agenda by executing them…" Execution, the word sent chills down Ressler's spine. _'The Executor,' _he repeated in his thoughts.

"How many of you work for Gustav? And, who do you give that many information to?"

"Our employers of course, they pay us handsomely and we provide our family the requirements and for safety reasons we keep close eye on our employees as well. You see Mr. Ressler, we are not many, but enough to locate someone and become their shadow— we work like a network which is slowly growing. Information retrieval and disclosing is normalcy in our line of work."

"How should I believe you that you can help me get Reddington?" Realizing his tongue slipped, he distracted them by picking up a cigarette from his pocket, and offered the man who smiled and open heartedly declined.

"Whatever you desire, Mr. Ressler, I assure you, that Reddington shall be taken care of, and we can help you if only you are willing to become one of us. We can be your eyes and ears, if so you will to be ours'."

By now Ressler wondered if these men were aware of Reddington assisting their taskforce, he hoped not. "What about my privacy?"

"It will be safe, you have my word."

"Word ain't enough pal, I'm considering you see." Taking a drag out, he warily eyed the three men. Now no matter how intimidating the three men looked, Ressler sure could find his way into winning a fist fight.

"Then you just have wait and see for yourself."

_ 'Reddington, the fucker lied to us he always does!_' he exclaimed inwardly and mused some more, '_Think about it, Ressler, you can be a king, seal the deal. You can probably find out the reason why Reddington asked for Liz, the Blacklist, who is Tom Keen and most important who is Reddington. Think about it, you will have the knowledge on everyone. And if, things slips out you do have your job, a fucking Federal Agent you can always turn your back and stay safe. You are an agent, an elite soldier, you deserve glory. Seal the fucking deal man!'_

Ressler accepted the man's large hands, shaking firmly—he sealed the deal. Not anymore shall he remain in a shadow, Donald Ressler as simple as he wanted his life to be, it will never be that way unless he finishes his job. The case of Reddington is the only thing that he hadn't taken care of, and he desperately needed to finish it once and for all by any means necessary, it does not matter if the action will not be official—scum like Reddington does not deserve to live, and neither do those people on the Blacklist. Perhaps the Swedish man could help him getting the List, maybe then the FBI could appreciate him, a legit, by-the-book agent and not relying on a criminal. If in order to achieve his goals requires rules to be bent then so be it, Ressler has bent enough rules and protocols before quite a few times to be wary of the consequences, but he was also capable of handling those petty problems all by himself.

Now, Ressler was utterly aware of Gustav having no intention to carry out an execution on him, but his doubts wavered upon someone familiar— Reddington, perhaps it was him who was behind this whole charade. Perhaps it was an envious Reddington who wanted him dead. And the criminal was mindful of his eagerness, the itch to confront the threat head-on, Ressler was aware of his own reasoning; if he were to attack Gustav first, then he will be next to dead right at that moment.

"I do have few terms, Alekseev; your people did try to kill me and my partner with that car crash. First tell your boss to get out of Minnesota now. I want to meet him personally and discuss few matters beforehand." The Russian smiled which reached his good eye. He turned back to look at the Slovenian and gestured him by nodding approval to inform the situation.

"What else do you want us to do, Mr. Ressler?"

Ressler felt an ominous grin wrapping on his face, the contortion frightened him. There is no point denying he was frightened at himself now. "The guards are outside waiting for me, I have to get back out there. Make sure you lock the door after we go. Oh and make none of my neighbors see you out, I don't want them to have an impression, if they do—make them believe you all are my cousins; I don't give a damn how but you should."

Alekseev dug into his pockets to retrieve a card, handing it to Ressler he nodded and spoke back in his native tongue at the two men. Ressler nodded back to the giant and got out of from the vision.

When he reached his porch he saw the temporary recon team solely assigned to protect him. Ressler paid a mock salute to their leader and jumped into the back seat which was comically packed.

"Ok, which one of you just farted?" He grunted in annoyance to which no one responded. Stealing a glance at his home, he was driven off to destination unknown.

. . . .

Gustav sat upon his rocking chair on the balcony of his loaned villa, reading a newspaper when his phone vibrated. Answering it, he smiled getting the news.

"Well, that went well." The words flew out openly to particularly no one, but it got someone else's attention.

"Who was that, Dad?" asked a short blonde haired young man who stood behind his father.

"Borodin,"

"Oh, so you found the FBI agent?"

"Indeed, we found him."

"Is he any good?"

"Well, we must wait and see for ourselves." The older man stood on his feet and turned back to his young son.

"I don't understand, Dad, you're taking a pretty big risk disobeying your orders. Being friends with your target—"he was rudely interrupted by his father whose glare silenced him, but it softened soon.

"Disobeying? Son, curiosity is not always unhealthy. I just want to know why Reddington of all people is suddenly so desperate to understand my actions on that agent." The younger Gustav stared, his interest piqued from his father's disapproval of something obvious. But he chose to listen, the name Reddington—it seems, like the man was already involved in their business. The man was tenacious for his role in flipping their little underground system upside down every now and then, followed by his signature evasion not to be found again. His father hated him, and he wasn't the only one.

"Reddington? He's here?" His father nodded in approval, but this time he did not sneer—this time he looked different.

"Apparently, the agent had him concerned, if I must say—this agent can help us bring him down. And, I'm interested now, since the man shares his disdain towards Raymond. We can exploit this little concern. If the agent holds a special place in his heart, then we might be able to inflict pain on him; slowly but effectively."

More question aroused in the young man's mind but he chose one to ask, "Are we talking about agent Ressler?"

"No I'm talking about Ressler's partner, Elizabeth Keen." Even more confused, his eyebrows furrowed some more. Seeing the younger man's face twisting into thoughtfulness, his father laughed.

"Then why are you bringing the man in?"

"Resources, Jürgen, we need a foundation to build something. And that man will become a foundation to something good. He will be helpful, and not only that; we can get rid of that parasite, Raymond. Know this son he is well aware you are here—and in this foreign soil we are not yet safe from the people who lurk to hunt us." He returned back to his rocking chair, and he lifted a whiskey glass and drank the fluids—and leaned back completely relaxed. "That reminds me, you and your brother need to get out of this country, I'll arrange your flight tickets—go as soon as possible."

"What about Masha?"

"She is safe here, Jürgen. No one knows but us." He forlornly gazed upwards, and sighed.

"I smell mutiny, Dad. I don't trust your little recon forces. You know that right." He walked towards his father and picked up the old whiskey bottle and studied it, yet his mind wandered off elsewhere. Keeping it on its place, he was interrupted by his father. Who was well aware of the implication, it has been few months when his little business is not flourishing, now unlike their past, he has been solely dependent on his employers. He does not make a deal, but the deal makes him.

"You're awfully paranoid, son." He dejected calmly.

"Bjorn thinks so too." His father suddenly looked older, the wrinkles were visible and his eyes tired. The fire was fading and it worried his son.

"Well not until Alekseev is dead, your father will be safe. Now, go and visit Masha then you can leave soon. I hope your American endeavor was satisfactory. " Seeing his son smile, he smiled back which reached his maroon eyes.

"We weren't satisfied."

"Well, then hopefully, next time you can have everything your way. Now off you go." He returned back into his alcoholic savoring. While his stared ahead at the scenery, admiring it for few minutes before walking back into the mansion.

"Take care, Dad." He got no reply, he never did and he never expected anyway.

Ansgar Gustav's phone vibrated once more, and this time—the number was unknown. Picking up, he listened grimly.

'_Time to leave'_

He got up, and casually strolled out of his balcony unto his loaned mansion. Taking in a glance at every corner of the colossal structures of fine architecture, he sauntered down by the stairs. His thoughts wavered off to his son's paranoia. He was perfectly cautious, around his goons as they can't be trusted anymore. His desperation on the way building his reputation had caused his followers to be cynical of his actions. He could feel it, their silent anger—their invoked resentment towards his actions against failures—was inhuman, brutal even. Had he considered the life he was taking as punishment was despicable? He sure did, but in case to save his old ass from the trouble he got rid of those people. But in expense those men, who he helped during their dire time, were slowly turning their backs to him.

All feared the great, Alekseev who was considered as a leader—if there was the only person he could rely on, and it would be him. The Ex-Alpha Group operative had great qualities of being a leader as well as being a follower, his excellent track record as an FIS agent—where due to an unfortunate circumstance on a mission he lost an eye, betrayed and scorned, he became Gustav's first personnel not because of his lost eye, but for blind eye turn agency, his family died in retaliation. The big man held an alpha like appearance, every other man feared him, intimidating and dark. His very soul was unreadable, mysterious as he can be. That is when Gustav became doubtful of his nature too. Perhaps the thoughts were planted by his sons, but Masha liked the Russian, no doubt if he was alive till now, it was because of the big man. Besides a leader who follows cannot be a traitor despite having the resources and perfect abilities. There's no reason to fear, or be paranoid.

_'Be afraid of the dark, Ansgar, be very afraid.' _Thoughts wavering, yet he trampled over them and got inside a cab.

"Let's go."

Few miles later, they saw a mass of black suburbans racing towards the opposite side blaring sirens—towards the roads were they came from. Picking up his phone, he dialed a number. The ringing ceased and he heard an unfamiliar voice.

"Agent Ressler… It's Gustav."

_That was unexpected._ He heard a sharp and heavy bass voice from other line.

"Always expect the unexpected, agent Ressler." And then they conversed.

…

_8:54 P.M._

"Pardon sir? Yes. I understand. I'll be informing you about my whereabouts, and everything. Thank you. No… I won't mess up. I'll see you soon."

That was Cooper whom he was talking to, right after speaking with Gustav. The anxiously angered man couldn't stay put. Making sure he convinced his father figure boss to let him go out of the State, so the search operation on him will die down when they apprehend Gustav with Reddington's help. He was told by his boss that they could not find the wanted man when they got there.

So, Donald Ressler manipulated his way into a vacation, by shaking hands with a criminal association. Keeping his little secret to himself, he talked about how to not stay on-track, as they might be aware of his location in States. They were working covertly, and the FBI can't vigil every other person on D.C just because of a field agent life was threatened. He knew Cooper or Reddington will try to find him, noticing him hiding the fact that he is taking assistance from a federal criminal will destroy his career.

_'Your career was over when Reddington surrendered.'_

'_I… I don't know.'_

_'Forgot your ass beaten every time?'_

_'No'_

_'So, let us assume you're gonna get your ass handed this time as well?'_

_'Fuck no!'_

Accepting every statement his feebly matured brain mustered, he sighed frustrated.

_'China, China, China.' _Closing his eyes, he tried to replay the time when he was there. A traumatizing day and their mission was clusterfucked. He was 25, and in the team of eight he and another two were the survivors. He can still hear the Bravo company leader, Eric Silva's last threat to the terrorists in China before he became martyr for their sake.

He could hardly understand Chinese except for few words, but Eric was fluent and his sacrificial threat still sent chills down his spine and angered him. The only words he understood were, "I… kill… you"

Before the ETIM plotted against the Xinjiang province of China, their team was selected in an escort mission of a most wanted terrorist who was captured by the Chinese. En-route they were ambushed by his fellow men—or so the Green Berets thought, but later they understood the plot by the local fundamentalist soldiers, it was to capture the terrorist and execute him on-spot, no information retrieval was necessary. The Fundamentalists did not want the man to leave their territory alive. Their group was captured, and for few days they were almost dead with no water or food in the desert with no prior knowledge of the map, but Eric knew—he being the leader, provided where they should go while he stayed behind distracting the Chinese soldiers. Ressler wanted to stay behind in place of his leader, as a second-in-command not to leave any soldier behind but got convinced that he along with the others should go.

And during the little revolt, their plan failed as Bravo Company lost one man that fateful day. The Chinese made sure to let them know why they were powerful, as their soldier retaliated. Out of ammo, and their group almost dead, Eric with all his might and wrath—charged blindly and luckily managed to kill them and died due the wounds inflicted. Their escort mission went pathetic, as they not only lost two men but also one severely injured soldier with them. The Chinese had their objective successfully done, while they failed.

Few miles later they found a road with no life. With fatigued muscles, and emotional agony they dropped to the ground besides the path. Their communication device picked up signal, and they contacted for someone to pick them up from the hole. Few hours later they heard a Chopper approaching—which was friendly amongst the countrymen. They tried to talk to them in unmanageable English, which none of them understood—too shocked, too angry, too fucking helpless losing their leader and a brother they were all crestfallen. Picking up every ounce of courage and ability to speak, Ressler somehow managed to uplift their souls.

He met the pilot who understood English, but was unable to speak properly. He gestured him that he could write but unfortunately there were neither a pen nor a paper to write on. Few miles later hovering above the ground, a bazooka knocked their chopper down. And that is when their very soul in their violent ire resurrected. The Pilot unfortunately died, but there were two more soldiers who were alive and assessed the situation rather profoundly. Ignoring the fatigue, and pain they were provided with decent ammos to counteract. The ETIMs' were fended off, but in the process only one Chinese soldier and two Americans surrendered to martyrdom. The injured one, Curtis and another young fellow about Ressler's own age, Diaz both got their fateful deaths. It was both saddening and belligerent for them. Ressler wanted to hate on the Red Army but couldn't, as they were saved by them by the end of the day.

Their ride arrived as soon as they were got to the base of the Chinese army camp, and got away from their little hellish experienced place. He did not even bother to know the name of those two soldiers who died while helping them. Whether it was his anger towards them, or his own guilt he did not know, he'd rather not know.

He took few weeks off, and returned back to his workplace for more. He was awarded the place of Eric, which he undeniably accepted, and lead another team through many successful victories without any casualties. And then two-and- a half years later he left the army to join the FBI.

His phone cried, and his musing faltered mid-way. Rubbing both his eyes exhausted and reddened—he sighed gloomily. Leaving the phone ringing he dragged himself towards the washroom to splash some water unto himself. The steam on the mirror did not reflect his face, so he cleaned it with his hands and took a good look at his face after so long. He was clearly surprised to see the dark lines forming under his eyes. Only 34 years old and he could see wrinkles beside the eye line, the worry lines had created visible lines on his forehead. His cheek bones are distinctly visible nowadays, due to the lost weight.

"You look like shit, Donald" his voice still deep—unwavering yet lifeless.

Perhaps Elizabeth dilemma is getting him, perhaps it was Reddington's mystery—or perhaps he desperately wanted to speak to his mother.

"Perhaps alcohol will fix you." Nodding to himself he walked out of the washroom and heard his phone ringing. He took a glance and sighed, it displayed the name, Beth.

"Hello" he spoke, "No, I didn't forget… Sorry I couldn't make it today. Got a buttload of work to attend to… Yes, I'm fine, you? So how was your concert?" He heard some more, "That's great! I really wanted to enjoy your company… no, I'm not lying. Haha… Ok, see you soon. Bye."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, his cellphone vibrated and notified a message, and it was from Keen. It apparently made him realize, he was being mothered upon. The message asked him how was he; just few hours ago he talked with her over the phone—and now it was a message. He clearly did not understand this particular situation with her. Whether it appeared if she was interested in him personally, or it was just professional concern he did not know; but it surely crossed few lines. Not that he was confused, who was he kidding? He surely was confused. So, what does he do when he was confused? Absolutely nothing, there was nothing he could do on this subject.

He convinced his boss to not let the criminal or Keen be aware of his little vacation, if either of them know then surely both will get the idea. And a curious Liz is just as dangerous as Reddington. He will be visiting New York to confront Zhou, and the theme was to look like a prisoner—unthreatening so that the role won't alert him when he and the others will reach Tompkins. He'll be escorted by few men and Alekseev probably will remain behind to do his role as a bodyguard. Hopefully that Czech won't come with him…

He dialed some number which appeared to be random, hearing it ring—he glanced towards the door of his safe house suddenly paranoiac of the shadows roaming the other side. As he heard a voice from the other line, he asked, "Am I speaking with Rolf Asger?"

"_Ah, I was expecting your call."_ An accent he could not point a, it was much similar to German but he couldn't deny the fact it might be because of the electronic line.

…Ressler hid something, which might ruin his already pathetic career. It was scandalous, and perhaps suicidal, however, he was rather confused why he had not told his boss about it—but ignored the thought as he had kept hidden many more actions from him. There was this little twist…

_Monday_

_4:04 A.M._

The safe house was safe to say the least, the surveillance cameras glared throughout their objectified places. While few guards from a team of eight remained relaxed not expecting anything out of the blue, many of them had been taking naps. Taking turns all the way through the day, and their purpose was to keep a man safe, a field agent from the FBI. They did not understand why a man, who isn't even considered worthy or relevant enough, achieved a spot—people like them to keep him safe. However they don't have to care anymore since the said agent will be leaving for Canada before noon on his own responsibility.

Although they must confess he was a pleasant man, a defense background much like most of the HRT and the S.W.A.T. team men—but they were not surprised when he told them he was in the army while their team consisted of devil dogs.

Donald Ressler talked about sports and played cards with the team throughout the day, making inappropriate jokes like a bully does but not towards them—the man was not arrogant. Few dirty jokes, and pranks and he bonded quite well with the team. The boys didn't regard him with contempt, but friendly he was. The golden boy of the FBI that they became aware of when their superiors ordered them to protect him, to keep him captive until further notice, but the ex-army man told them he'll be going out of the country to some remote place— to hide low and not become a burden on them.

They gladly appreciated the gesture.

A friend

Their safe house was located in the outback with few check-in sites, consisting of few men who took turns every now and then. Nevertheless there were about sixteen highly efficient men guarding the whole site, and six of them were guarding the house and two were near the door where the good agent was slept.

"Jargon A1, do you copy?" A man spoke through the communicating device which followed with a static,

"Jargon A1 copy,"

"Stalwart F1, do you copy?"

"Stalwart F1 copy,"

"Keep watch for few hours and we'll go back to our families." The man disconnected for now, and stared ahead towards the night awaiting the first light of the sun. As a team leader, he chose to not take nap the whole day.

But about three minutes later it was an inauspicious time and their luck had ran out, when a pin like object managed to hit his unprotected neck before he could alert other he slumped down along with his companion. Four men casually strolled towards the door, carefully not stepping over the unconscious men. They had uniforms which were appallingly grey, wearing protective gears from head-to-toe they marched towards the house. Sneaking inside they easily managed to incapacitate the others while searching room by room in search for someone.

When they saw two men guarding a door, dozing somewhat haplessly they gestured amongst themselves. One man shook his head in denial, aiming his dart-gun like weapon towards one, while his team mate took out his' and aimed for the other guard. Both took their shots simultaneously, seeing the unconscious men, one attacker looked up towards the surveillance camera which beamed green light. He showed his middle-finger towards the camera and stormed towards the room where Donald Ressler slept.

Breaking in, he was balled over when the said agent ambushed him to the ground.

Ressler violently punched his protected head, and jumped towards a man who was trying to take his aim to incapacitate the unarmed man who apparently had attacked another man from his team. He took few steps back to keep manageable distance from the violent one who is fighting his third opponent who had apparently held him in a head-lock.

Ressler struggled for few seconds while shoving himself and his attacker backwards earning a fall to the floor. The shock and the impact helped him to roll out of his attacker's grasp, he saw the last man struggling with the gun to take his shot.

When he launched himself towards the last man, he was seized by two men by the legs. Both of them grappled with him on the floor, one of them held a tranquilizing dart and managed to stab the agent in the neck drawing blood from it.

Ressler agonizing scream was interrupted when one of the grappling men enclosed his agape mouth with his large palms—closing it completely to prevent him from alerting someone. The blood gurgle stopped when Ressler finally accepted his defeat as his consciousness finally crumbled.

The four attackers searched each other's faces and slumped back to the walls near them. Taking few breaths they stood up. The larger amongst the four carried the comatose body of Ressler on his shoulder. Furthermore he did not forget to point towards the camera and implying the lifeless body he held, arrogantly displaying that they had the man despite the securities.

* * *

><p>I've researched few things also I used the translator shamelessly :p<p>

Blame Gloria Gainer's I Will Survive if you don't find this interesting, perhaps I should've listened to few dark ambient music like I normally do while writing this particular fic :P Anyway, this is probably the last chapter out from my bigass document then I'll take a big break after reading your reviews so as to ponder on how to break the pace and build things up to something better. I'll resume writing this story considering your reviews and tips if you're willing to share :D

Last but not the least, thank you for your wonderful reviews :))

_Formerly Known as: _Bossmann


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